Splinters of the Mind's Eye
by Starway Man
Summary: The Ministry has fallen, and the Golden Trio are hiding at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place – when they discover the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities. But how will using it help them win the second wizarding war? (COMPLETE)
1. Destiny's Left Turn

**Date written:** Sat 1 Sep 2018

 **Author:** Starway Man

 **Acknowledgments:** Thanks to Greywizard and Bill Haden for beta'ing this fanfic. And thanks to both friends and family who gifted me the seven Harry Potter books authored by the one and only J. K. Rowling, which were consulted in the writing of this story!

 **Category:** Alternate Universe, Angst, Family, Tragedy

 **Symbols:** "word" indicates speech, and { _word_ } indicates a character's thoughts

 **Feedback:** Doesn't every fanfic writer want this? So please don't be shy, and tell me what you thought of it!

 **Disclaimer:** Anything and everything to do with the Harry Potter universe belongs to Joanne Rowling, and whoever else can lay proper claim to the books and films. Those parts of the text taken directly from the novels/cinematic productions definitely _**do**_ _**not**_ belong to me! Anything else you recognize, it belongs to whichever legal entity owns it. This is a work of fanfiction, and no remuneration is expected or will be received.

 **Rating:** Overall R, most parts PG-13

 **Warnings:** Proceed at own risk! In this story, there's some bad language, bad humor, and my beta readers have warned me that the characters say and do things that are just mean and non-PC. Simply warning you all ahead of time, folks; kids, it's probably best for you to avoid this one!

 **Bashing:** I don't think so, but then, I'm not the best judge of such things. Hey – I actually like all of the various characters in this story, even the bad guys and the good guys that I can't stand in the books: I try my best to ignore the movies, but there's some stuff in there that's just so good I can't help but want to use it! Okay, maybe there's a couple of people that don't come off looking too good in this fic, but you could argue they were pricks in canon, too. On the other hand, there's a few characters I portray in a better light than their canon depictions: so, just gotta hope it all evens out okay in the wash!

 **Author's Note 1:** I've been away from the ff dot net site for a long time now, as just like 2017... 2018 has been a very busy year, both personally and professionally. But I've finally gotten some spare time and put this together – and it's the first pure Harry Potter fanfic I've ever written, so please be gentle! :)

 **Author's Note 2:** The majority of this story originally appeared as individual chapters of Greywizard's short fanfic series "Variations On A Scene", published over at Twisting the Hellmouth. But there's new, extra stuff here to tie it all together into a cohesive overarching story, rather than just a series of unconnected scenes.

 **Author's Note 3:** I wish to pay homage to the reviewers of "Variations On A Scene" by incorporating some of the ideas they came up with into this story. My thanks to all of you for your contributions – if you're reading this, you know who you are!

 **Summary:** The Ministry has fallen, and the Golden Trio are hiding at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place – when they discover the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities. But how will using it help them win the second wizarding war?

 **Title:** Splinters of the Mind's Eye

* * *

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

(Albus Dumbledore, HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE)

"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,  
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"

(John Greenleaf Whittier, 1856)

"No matter where you go, there you are."

(Buckaroo Banzai, 1984)

"Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."

(Samuel Johnson, 1777)

* * *

 **Chapter One: Destiny's Left Turn**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

Looking at it in retrospect, everything could be summarized with the last stanza of that old poem written by George Herbert in 1651: ' _so it is a kingdom was lost. All for the want of a nail_ '.

Of course, in this case there wasn't any nail to speak of, and the kingdom had already been lost, given away really, to the forces of darkness: but it wouldn't have been wrong to say that everything would have turned out very differently, if Remus Lupin hadn't semi-accidentally kicked over the troll-leg umbrella stand after hexing Harry Potter for calling him a coward.

"Blasted thing!" the werewolf cursed, on his way to the front door.

Unfortunately, Remus had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: the curtains hiding the magical painting flew open and she began to scream, "Filthy werewolf, worthless scum, dishonoring my house with your presence-!"

"Oh, _**shut up**_ , you old bat!" Lupin roared back at her, cutting off Walburga Black's rant as the portrait gasped and stared at him in surprise. "I've been looking into how to overcome that house elf magic which has been keeping you up on that wall for years now, you should know – so let's see if I've figured it out! Finite maxima! Diffindo!" He pointed his wand at the wall, and then, the shrieking portrait collapsed to the ground.

"CONFRINGO!" Remus then shouted, unleashing his most powerful Blasting curse on the portrait – and subsequently erasing the last traces of his best friend's mother, as the semi-sapient recording of Walburga Black exploded into little pieces. Somewhere on the other side of the Veil of Death, Lupin imagined Sirius was now yelling and jumping for joy –

But, to be honest, the former Marauder wasn't interested in focusing on that right now. Because despite his recent protests to the contrary, Remus knew that Harry's accusations of cowardice – of wanting to abandon his wife and unborn child, because he couldn't cope with the idea of being a father – would continue to plague him, until he and Nymphadora sat down and hashed out their problems.

So ignoring Hermione Granger's cries of "Remus, Remus, come back!" he walked out the front door and disapparated, leaving the chaos he'd created behind without a second thought.

* * *

 **The Black Family kitchen**

 **A moment later**

"Harry!" Hermione wailed, after hearing the front door slam shut. "How could you say all that to Remus?"

"It was easy," Harry replied. He stood up; he could feel a lump swelling where his head had hit the wall, after Remus had cursed him. But he was still so full of anger he was shaking. "For one thing, the bloke had it coming, and for another – parents shouldn't leave their kids, unless they've got absolutely no other choice."

"Bloody hell. You really reckon this'll make him go back to Tonks?" Ron Weasley asked, the ginger shaking his head doubtfully.

"I dunno. But if it does, the name-calling and all will have been worth it, won't it?" Harry asked, not sure if he was just indulging in wishful thinking.

"Bugger me if I know the answer to that. Sometimes, I wonder whether Tonks would have been better off with my brother Charlie – they dated at Hogwarts, you know, and then he left for that dragon preserve in Romania," Ron sighed, before he turned and walked out of the room. "Best go clean up the mess from that blasting curse, I suppose. Be back soon!"

Ron left the kitchen, and Harry stared at Hermione curiously. "You aren't going with him?"

"I wanted to talk to you first," Hermione replied grimly. "You said some things to Remus that – well, quite honestly, Harry, I don't know where your head is currently at, but your lack of respect just shows –"

"Spare me that old 'teachers are supposed to be respected' speech, will you?" Harry snapped, cutting her off impatiently. "For one thing, Remus hasn't been our DADA professor in years, and for another –"

"MERLIN'S BEARD!" Ron's voice was suddenly heard shouting from not far away. "Harry! Hermione! Come and have a look at this!"

The Boy-Who-Lived and the brightest witch of her age instantly abandoned their conversation/argument, and raced out to join the third member of the Golden Trio. They quickly arrived in the hallway, and saw how Ron was pointing at the wall where Walburga's portrait had hung.

"Look!" the youngest Weasley son said, pushing aside the moth-eaten velvet curtains that had previously concealed Walburga's portrait. "Look what I found!"

It was a mirror, one just as tall as the life-sized portrait had been, with an ornate gold frame, embedded into the wall of the house and concealed from view until now. But what truly caught Harry's attention was the inscription at the bottom of the mirror, written on the wooden caption screwed into the frame: _Nee bev ahth gim tahwt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

At once, Harry was reminded of his adventures back during the trio's first year at Hogwarts, and the Mirror of Erised – which showed everyone their true heart's desire. "Mate, that's –"

"I know! It's written backwards, 'I show not your face but what might have been,' I already figured it out," Hermione interrupted excitedly. "And yet – it's not showing us anything?"

It was true; the mirror showed nothing but dark, inky blackness. Harry frowned. "Maybe it's been locked to prevent people from using it? Sounds like something Sirius's family would do, anyway. But – 'what might have been'? This isn't like the Mirror of Erised, it's – Ron? What are you doing?"

"I don't believe it," Ron breathed in sheer incredulity, ignoring Harry's question and examining the left-hand corner of the mirror's golden frame. "It can't be..."

"What?" Hermione demanded, bustling him aside to examine the mirror herself. "What are you – oh! That's unusual..."

"What is it?" Harry demanded, coming over to see for himself.

"I've never seen a pair of lemniscates intertwined like that before," Hermione mused, just as Harry spotted the tiny pair of interlocked infinity symbols at the edge of the mirror frame. "In arithmancy, and even muggle mathematics, you don't –"

"This is the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities," Ron interrupted her, a look of awe on his face.

"What?" Harry ignored the annoyed look on Hermione's face, not wanting to listen to a lecture on something he wasn't even remotely interested in right now. "Ron – you know what this thing actually is? And if you do, how do you know that?"

"Yes, Ronald, how exactly did you know that?" Hermione echoed his demand, and rather irritably to Harry's ear.

"It's an old family legend..." Ron said vaguely, still examining the Mirror carefully. "I heard about it from my Grand-dad Weasley, actually, back when I was just a little nipper – all of us Weasley kids did, as a matter of fact. I thought it was just something he made up as a bedtime story, so did Ginny and the others – but I guess it was true all along..."

"What was true? And again, how do you know the name of this mirror?" Hermione demanded stridently, looking far more annoyed with Harry's best friend than could be reasonably expected.

{ _What's wrong with her?_ } Harry asked himself, frowning. { _She can't still be upset over what happened just now with Remus, can she? No, or else Hermione wouldn't be looking at Ron that way, like he was snogging Lavender Brown right in front of her or something..._ }

"My grandfather, his name was Septimus Weasley," Ron replied, taking a step back and still not looking at the witch – ah, right, that explained it; Hermione always hated it whenever Ron wouldn't fully pay attention to her, during one of their conversations – and then the ginger added, "And his wife, my grandmother, she was named Cedrella. Cedrella Black Weasley."

"What?" Harry gasped. "What are you – you mean, you and Sirius were related?"

"I've told you before, Harry, just about every pureblood and halfblood in the wizarding world are related somehow – because there simply aren't that many of us around," Ron replied rather impatiently. "And yeah, technically; Granny Cedrella was Sirius' great-aunt, so that means him and me were... second cousins twice removed, or third cousins once removed, or something like that? But that's not the point –"

"Then what _**is**_ your point?" Hermione interrupted, still looking annoyed.

"My point is, my gran married into the Weasley family, and I'm pretty sure – that mirror was part of her bride price," Ron explained, gesturing to the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities. "Despite the fact that she was later disowned and the marriage considered null and void by the Blacks, they still kept the Mirror. I mean, why wouldn't they? If this thing can do even half of what my grand-dad said it could, 'course they kept it..."

"I think you've just lost me and Hermione both, mate," Harry said cautiously, shooting a look at his female best friend – who was indeed looking confused, and angry because of it. "Start again, from the beginning?"

"Right, sorry. Okay..." Ron paused to collect his thoughts. "My dad's dad was born eighty years ago, and he started at Hogwarts when he was eleven, just like us; just like every other British witch and wizard. Grand-dad Septimus was in the same year as my gran, and even though he was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin – they still fell in love and got married, after leaving Hogwarts –"

" _ **You**_ had a Slytherin grandmother?" Hermione interrupted, looking confused. "And yet, Ronald... how many times have I heard you say that all Snakes are evil, or words to that effect?"

"That was _**before**_ Grindelwald,You-Know-Who, Slughorn and all the rest of them, and my gran wasn't evil!" Ron shot back, looking insulted.

"Go on," Harry interjected, sending Hermione a warning look not to pursue this any further. "You were saying, they got married – and this mirror was part of her bride price?"

"Bride price! That's an utterly barbaric practice, if you ask me – treating a woman as if she's merely chattel of some sort! Ron, I can't believe your family of all people took part in that sort of thing!" Hermione said crossly, folding her arms below her bosom.

Harry could tell his best mate was rapidly losing all patience with the bushy-haired muggleborn, as Ron glared at Hermione and said, "It's what people in the wizarding world did back then, all right? I'm not condoning it, and besides, nobody forced my gran to do anything she didn't want to – she was disowned for marrying into my family, remember?"

"Can we possibly get to the part about the mirror, please?" Harry sighed wearily, wondering if these two would ever be able to have a conversation without it devolving into a fight of some sort. { _It's like they actually_ _ **enjoy**_ _arguing with one another that way, or something. Ugh!_ }

"Right. Yeah. Well, my great-grandfather, Frugoldus Weasley –" Ron started to say.

"Frugoldus?" Hermione interrupted. "What kind of a name is that?"

"Don't answer that, Ron – just keep going!" Harry ordered, knowing that allowing the conversation to go there would lead to nothing but a loud screaming match – and the subject of the Mirror completely forgotten.

Luckily, Ron simply glared at Hermione for a moment before he nodded and said, "Well, a long time ago, he was the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley – the family eventually lost the title, although that's neither here nor there right now. Thing is, Frugoldus was a Charms master and he created the Mirror as a wedding gift for his son. And my grandfather gave it to his in-laws, in exchange for the Head of House Black – I think his name was Phineas Nigellus, or something like that – giving his blessing to the marriage."

{ _Phineas – hang on, I know that name!_ } Harry thought to himself, frowning. { _Oh, that's right, that portrait back in my O.W.L.s year – he was Sirius' great-great-grandfather, and the least popular headmaster in Hogwarts' history! I wonder..._ }

"And yet, your grandmother was still disowned for marrying your grandfather? Despite both families being purebloods, and the heads' prior approval of the match?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.

Ron's face and ears started to turn red. "Er, well... that part doesn't exactly show my family in the best possible light, actually. Any chance that you two...?" Ron trailed off, taking in their expressions. "Yeah, I guess not."

"Well?" Hermione wanted to know, tapping her right foot impatiently.

Ron exhaled loudly, the redness increasing somewhat. "This mirror was supposed to be something really powerful, you know? My great-grandfather was worried that the Blacks would abuse it, once they got their hands on it. So... apparently he rigged it, before he gave it to my grandfather."

"Rigged it, how?" Harry wanted to know. The story was definitely starting to intrigue him, and Hermione too, from the look on her face.

"From what my grand-dad told me, the Mirror could only be used by someone with Weasley blood," Ron confessed, starting to look embarrassed. "Which, considering how many of us there were back then – the Weasleys had more heirs than just about any other Noble and Ancient House – well, that wouldn't have mattered to the Blacks. The right amount of gold can buy you a lot of things, even a Weasley willing to go against their Head of House. But there was more to it than just being part of the family..."

"Like what?" Harry asked eagerly, leaning forward.

"Yes, what?" Hermione echoed, just as eagerly.

"You know how the British wizarding world is a pretty small place, right? Just about everyone knows everyone else – and back then, it was even smaller than it was before the first war," Ron sighed again. "Anyway, Grand-dad Septimus told me that in order to get the Mirror to work after it had been switched off, you needed to do it using parseltongue –"

"WHAT?!" Harry shouted in surprise.

"Yeah. Why do you think I knew about parselmouths, back in our second year? Not like I'd forgotten my grandfather's stories 'bout them," Ron shrugged. "I reckon my great-grandfather must have gotten one of the Gaunts – probably the Head of House – to do it. The Blacks wouldn't have known you had to speak snake in order to get the Mirror to wake up, and so they got right pissed over being cheated out of Granny Cedrella's bride price..."

"But what exactly does the Mirror _**do**_ , Ron? You still haven't answered my question about that," Hermione said urgently. "I mean, is this thing going to be of help to us in hunting for Voldemort's horcruxes?"

"I don't know," Ron said, after noticeably wincing – Harry scowled at that, when was his best mate _**ever**_ going to be able to hear or say that name without flinching? Anyway, the ginger added, "And whenever I asked my grandfather what the Mirror really did, he'd just smile and say, "You'll find out one day, Ronnie." Only thing is, that 'one day' never came –"

"Until now," Harry interrupted, looking excited. "All right, then, let's find out. _Work_!" he hissed at the Mirror, speaking the language of snakes – but nothing happened.

"Half a mo', something I've got to do first," Ron said, somewhat apologetically. He turned around and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later, the Weasley returned with a knife in hand.

"What are you going to do with that?" Hermione demanded, eyeing the knife in alarm.

But Harry, who had seen this sort of thing before during the night Dumbledore had died, had already guessed the answer. "Blood sacrifice..." He turned to Ron and said, "You need the blood of a Weasley to get the Mirror to work, don't you?"

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. He then pressed the knife into his left palm, enough to draw blood – and then he pressed his hand against the gold frame of the Mirror.

Straightaway, the black surface of the Mirror vanished, and the room was reflected normally. Harry took that as his cue and hissed in the serpentine language again, " _Work_!"

Straightaway, the Mirror grew frosted all over and there was an odd humming noise. Then the Mirror cleared up, and Harry saw –

"Malfoy?!"

Harry couldn't believe it. His former classmate and nemesis, Draco Malfoy – Slytherin, pureblood bigot, and the one who'd let his fellow Death Eaters into Hogwarts, which had led to Dumbledore's death – what was that git doing here, looking back at him and his friends from the other side of that mirror?

"Not exactly," Mirror Draco responded to Harry's question, with that blasted Malfoy smirk quickly appearing on his face. "Been a long time – ah, right. It's like that, is it? Then permit me to introduce myself; I'm the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, at your _**reluctant**_ service."

"You're not the real Draco Malfoy, then? So why are you looking like him, of all people?" Hermione wanted to know, a scowl appearing on her face.

"Do you want to tell her, Weasel? Or shall I do it?" Mirror Draco smirked at Ron, who clenched his hands into fists upon hearing that detested nickname. "Because it'd just be so much more _**fun**_ that way!"

{ _I don't like this,_ } Harry thought to himself worriedly, as the Mirror's behavior was almost making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. { _This thing doesn't talk like a normal magical mirror; in fact, it reminds me a lot of a certain book I encountered at Hogwarts..._ }

"According to my grandfather, part of the price you have to pay for using the Mirror – it's being forced to see the face of the person who annoys you the most," Ron semi-growled.

"Precisely!" Mirror Draco nodded. "I could look like this..." The image in the mirror morphed into that of Luna Lovegood, yet still with that annoying smirk that just looked so utterly _**wrong**_ on the female Ravenclaw's face.

"Or, like this," Mirror Luna said, before changing into the Gryffindor known as Colin Creevey, who was an excitable young chap a year below the three of them. Even worse than Luna Lovegood, though, did that smug expression fit upon _**his**_ face.

"But since neither you nor Granger are a Weasley, Potter, I'm forced to look like this," Mirror Colin vanished and Mirror Draco returned, smug look and all. "It's rather fitting, actually – all three of you find this face equally annoying. Well, not so much the Gryffindor princess, perhaps."

"What's _**that**_ supposed to mean?" Hermione immediately demanded, and rather heatedly.

"I already told you – I'm the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, you dumb bint," Mirror Draco looked down his nose at her. "Like the name implies, I know everything about nearly every possible occurrence. That's how I know you don't get that angry about whatever Draco Malfoy says, not like the Weasel and the Scarhead here. In fact, if things had happened differently in the past, there's a possibility you'd be shagging Malfoy right now –"

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS!" Ron instantly bellowed, the tips of his ears flaming crimson.

"He's right, I would _**never**_ –" Hermione started to say, looking sick.

"Shows what _**you**_ know, princess. Just an example – if it had been you that had found Malfoy sobbing in that toilet a few months back, instead of Pot-head here? Let's just say it might have been an encounter that would have _**really**_ changed your outlook on things," Mirror Draco grinned malevolently. "Once you try on platinum-blond, you can't ever go back – if you know what I mean?"

"OH! How dare you even _**imply**_ that Draco and I, that we, that – whatever, I'm _**not**_ that kind of girl!" Hermione shouted, looking insulted and annoyed.

"You heard her. Shut yer filthy gob about that, and never so much as even hint at it again – that's an order, understand?" Ron glared at Mirror Draco, who just pouted and then nodded silently.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that all this was a mistake," Harry spoke up, eyeing Mirror Draco carefully. "I mean, this thing is almost acting like Voldemort's Diary Horcrux..."

"Hey! My great-grandfather wouldn't have ever made something like _**that**_!" Ron shouted, looking insulted and annoyed.

"Wait a minute...where exactly did the instructions for making you come from, I wonder? _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , perhaps?" Hermione speculated, eyeing the Mirror carefully.

"I'm not obligated to answer that, princess," Mirror Draco replied, in a sulky tone of voice. "And I'm insulted that you even need to ask that question! What exactly has the Weasel told you about me, anyway?"

"Not much, because I don't actually know anything – other than what my grand-dad told me," Ron replied icily.

"Ah, you mean Sep? Fairly good specimen for a Weasley, him and Ceddie should have turned their family's fortunes around long ago – well, if he'd been sorted into Slytherin where he belonged, anyway," Mirror Draco sniffed. "But oh no, he was all, "Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin!" at eleven years old. Waste of potential – just like you, Scarhead."

"Stop calling us those offensive nicknames!" Hermione yelled indignantly, as Harry unconsciously flinched. "Ron, can't you order this thing to –"

"Sorry, princess, but the Weasel can't order me to do that. Everything else, yes, but being polite and subservient? No. I was designed this way by my creator, may Master Frugoldus' memory last forever," Mirror Draco interrupted, looking gleeful. "And you can't force me to act like what you want without destroying me, so there!"

"OOOH!" Hermione's eyes were almost blazing with ire and fury, and all of a sudden, Harry was worried that he and Ron might not be able to stop her if she decided to do something violent –

"How much do you know about what's currently happening in the wizarding world?" Ron suddenly spoke up, looking at Mirror Draco intensely.

"Enough," the image of the platinum-blond youth within the mirror replied. "Well, enough to know that you and these two are in way over your heads, and the odds are the Dark Lord and his thugs are eventually going to find you all, and kill you. Well, you and your princess _**might**_ survive, Weasel – but then, you two don't have that bloody prophecy hanging over your necks like your best mate does, do you?"

"You know about that?" Harry almost whispered, looking shocked.

"What, that either you or the Dark Wanker will eventually stand over the other's corpse? Don't be daft, Pot-head, of course I know about that!" Mirror Draco scoffed. "And even though I can show you the various possibilities of how things could have ended up, if events had been different in the past –"

"What do you mean?" Hermione interrupted, looking confused.

Mirror Draco grinned. "Be easier if I simply _**showed**_ you all, wouldn't it?"

The Mirror of Infinite Possibilities then started glowing, and an intense white light appeared out of nowhere and engulfed the Golden Trio, momentarily blinding them.

But then they saw and heard –

* * *

 **Hut-On-The-Rock, the Sea, not far off the English Midlands coastline**

 **July 30th, 1991**

Harry looked around at the filthy hut that his uncle, Vernon Dursley, had brought him and Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley to. The hut smelled strongly of seaweed and rat droppings, had only two rooms, a damp and empty fireplace, and little else – in fact, there was only two pieces of furniture present: a moth-eaten sofa, and a lumpy bed. The hut was a rather rickety wooden structure, which had filthy sagging windows, and wind blew through the many cracks in the walls with a slight whistling sound.

To be honest, there was nothing for Harry to do here but curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket on the floor and wait for the midnight hour to come, when he would finally turn eleven years old. It had certainly been an unusual week –

A week filled with aggressively multiplying letters addressed to him, from some mysterious writer.

Harry didn't know what exactly was going on, how it was the letters kept following him and the Dursleys everywhere they went; all he knew was that all this couldn't possibly keep on going forever. At some point, his uncle would regain his sanity and return them all to Number 4 Privet Drive – who knew, maybe the house would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow, and finally read its contents?

{ _I'm hungry,_ } Harry thought to himself, as his stomach rumbled angrily. There wasn't any food here at the hut, at least not anymore – the bananas and chips Uncle Vernon had brought had all been consumed earlier, and not by Harry himself, or anyone other than Dudley. { _Couldn't Uncle Vernon have brought more food? Dudley's going to start complaining in the morning, if nothing else – I bet he'll throw a tantrum, especially if I remind that pig in a wig that it's my birthday!_ }

One minute to go and he'd be eleven, according to the lighted dial of Dudley's watch. Thirty seconds... twenty... ten... nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him – three... two... one...

And just as he turned eleven years old, there was a sharp knock on the door of the hut. It was a simple three-tap cadence, and not especially loud – but one which nonetheless woke up his cousin instantly.

"What's going on?" Dudley asked stupidly, blinking awake.

"There's someone knocking on the door," Harry replied, wondering who it could be.

"Mum! Dad! There's someone at the front door!" Dudley immediately yelled for his parents, at the top of his lungs.

There was a loud crash of the bedroom door slamming open behind them, and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding an old hunting rifle in his hands – and Harry now knew what had been in the long, thin package the man had brought along for this trip.

"Who's there?" Vernon shouted. "I warn you – I'm armed!"

"Good for you," a loud, contemptuous male voice came from outside. "Now open this door at once, or else I'll open it myself."

At that moment, Aunt Petunia came running into the room – Harry couldn't help noticing she'd taken the time to brush her hair, which was rather typical of her obsessive-compulsive behavior – and she immediately demanded to know what was going on. "Vernon, who is that? And at this ungodly hour of the night?"

"Don't know, Pet," Harry's uncle replied. Then he shouted to the man outside, "I'll not open the door until you identify yourself! Y'hear me?"

"You can't say I didn't warn you what I'd do if you didn't cooperate, Dursley. Alohomora," the male voice said, and to Harry's shock – the lock clicked open and the door swung aside to allow the mysterious visitor in.

Harry had a brief glimpse of a man in his early thirties wearing black robes like the Emperor from Star Wars, someone with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin – when Aunt Petunia suddenly erupted, "YOU!"

"Yes, me. Hello, Petunia. It's been a very long time, hasn't it?" the stranger openly sneered at his aunt, before shutting the door behind him.

"You know this bloke, love?" Uncle Vernon lowered the rifle slightly, looking confused.

"Yes, Vernon. He's one of _**them**_ ," Harry's aunt spat in disgust. "His name is Severus Snape."

{ _Severus? What kind of name is that? I mean, who basically names their son 'cutter'? And I still don't know – what's he doing here?_ } Harry thought to himself. He looked around at his uncle and cousin, but neither of them seemed to have any idea who this strange man was...

"Is he a friend of yours, mum?" Dudley suddenly asked, drawing everyone's attention to himself.

"Hardly," Snape sneered at his cousin, something Harry had never witnessed anyone do before. "I was friends with your mother's sister – your Aunt Lily – but Petunia never liked me, boy. And the feeling was quite mutual, I assure you."

"What are you doing here?!" Uncle Vernon suddenly demanded, raising the rifle again. "Start talking, man, and don't you insult my wife again –"

To Harry's shocked surprise, Snape instantly withdrew a stick that was roughly 14 inches long and pointed it at Uncle Vernon, before hissing venomously, "Expelliarmus!"

There erupted a red jet of light, almost blinding to Harry's eyes, and the rifle was instantly plucked from Uncle Vernon's grasp and hurled away to the other side of the hut, where it loudly discharged itself into the fireplace. The obese walrus of a man started gasping, "What – how-?"

"A basic Disarming Charm, you muggle simpleton," Snape said mockingly after they'd mostly gotten their hearing back, and then putting away his stick. "Didn't Petunia teach you _**anything**_ about our world?"

"No, because I want _**nothing**_ to do with you and your world!" Aunt Petunia screeched, startling almost everyone in the room. "Your world killed my sister, as well as her useless, layabout husband! Not to mention how you saddled my family with their unholy spawn!"

Harry was fairly sure that Snape looked shocked for a moment – but it was only for a moment. Then the strange man turned his head to look in Harry's direction.

Not entirely to his surprise, Harry saw no trace of kindness or warmth in Snape's gaze – only disgust and contempt that something as low as Harry Potter dared stand in front of him.

"Ah, yes. Our – famous celebrity," Snape practically growled, his black eyes almost glowing with malice. "You look very much like your father did, at that age."

"You knew my dad?" Harry asked, as his brain finally started to process everything he'd heard for the last couple of minutes, that rifle had been really loud. He didn't get the whole 'celebrity' thing, but there were more important things on his mind right now. "As well as my mum? What were they like? And d'you have any pictures? I've always wanted to know what they looked like..."

Snape went very still for a moment, before he whirled around to face Aunt Petunia. "What in Merlin's name is he talking about? How can Potter not know what his own parents looked like?!"

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, Snape," the horse-faced woman stuck her nose up in the air disdainfully. "Now, what do you want here? Either explain yourself, or leave. I still remember enough of your world to register an official complaint with the Ministry, you should know!"

{ _Ministry? What ministry?_ } Harry didn't get it – as far as he knew, his aunt had never before spoken of any connections to the government. { _Is Aunt Petunia some sort of spy, like a female version of James Bond? No, that's ridiculous! She wouldn't even qualify for the role of Miss Moneypenny..._ }

"And here I thought you preferred to believe the wizarding world didn't exist," Snape scoffed.

"The what?" Harry and Dudley said at the same time, before turning to look at each other in confusion.

"Mum, dad. What's he talking about?" Dudley subsequently demanded.

"Be quiet, boy. This doesn't concern you – or even your father, technically speaking," Snape snapped at Harry's cousin, before his aunt and uncle could say anything.

"Here now, don't you talk to my son like that, you greasy lump!" Uncle Vernon shouted immediately.

Snape immediately brought his stick out and quickly crossed the distance separating him from Uncle Vernon. "You know what this is, don't you, Dursley?" the strange man purred, as he jabbed the stick into the other man's neck. "However much denial you might want to indulge in, I know for a fact that you've been read into the Statute of Secrecy – you know what a wizard's wand is, and you know what it can do. Just like you know what I can do to a pathetic muggle like yourself, if I was of a mind to. So, do you _**really**_ think it's a good idea to antagonize me?"

"Err, what's a muggle?" Harry asked timidly, not wanting to draw Snape's ire but not wanting to remain completely confused anymore either.

"A non-magical person, Potter," Snape informed him, after stepping away from Uncle Vernon and lowering his wand. The black-eyed man – wizard? – then added, "Someone like your relatives, but not you and I."

"Stop!" Uncle Vernon abruptly commanded. "Stop right there! I forbid you to tell the boy anything more!"

"You? Forbid me?" Snape suddenly looked genuinely amazed. "And you plan to enforce that edict, how? Dursley, have you taken leave of your senses completely?" He then turned back to Harry and said, "Am I to understand, Potter, that you didn't know that your mother was a witch? That your father was a wizard? That you yourself are a magical child?"

"I said _**stop**_!" Uncle Vernon thundered madly. "We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish, swore we'd stamp it out of him! Told that Dimbledoor codger himself what we'd do, if he left the brat in our care!"

Snape's facial expression was absolutely _**murderous**_ , and Uncle Vernon's courage failed him as he took several steps backwards. Harry didn't know what to say for several seconds, before he stammered, "You mean, you and Aunt Petunia knew that I'm a – a wizard?"

"Of course we knew!" Aunt Petunia suddenly shouted. "How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But my mother and father – oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were so _**proud**_ of having a witch in the family!"

Snape had gone completely still again, Harry noticed. And it also seemed to Harry that Aunt Petunia had wanted to say all this for a long time, years perhaps, and now she was finally giving voice to her repressed bitterness and anger...

"Then she met that Potter boy at school and they got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as, as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up, and we got landed with you!"

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But – you told me my parents died in a car crash. Didn't they?"

"A car crash, Petunia? Really? That's pathetic, even for you! Does your jealousy of Lily's abilities truly possess no limits?" Snape demanded with his characteristic sneer. "I wonder, who was it who came up with that story? Not you, I'm sure. Dumbledore? No, not him either. Most likely it was Dursley, here –"

"Who's this, er... person you're talking about?" Dudley suddenly spoke up, and Harry almost started in surprise – his overweight cousin had been so quiet lately, he'd almost forgotten the other boy was present and listening to everything being said, just like himself.

"Albus Dumbledore – not Dimbledoor," He briefly gave Vernon the stink-eye. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts," Snape added brusquely, barely glancing at Dudley. He then turned to face Harry and said, "Am I correct in assuming you don't know what Hogwarts is, Potter?"

"Um, yes, sir," Harry said meekly.

"Here." Snape tossed him one of the letters that Uncle Vernon had been trying to keep away from him for days, now. "Read that – and unless you want me to turn you into a pig or a goat or some such thing, Dursley, you _**will**_ stand still and remain quiet while the boy does so. Understood?"

Harry paid no attention to the threat – he was too busy ripping open his letter and finally reading what it had to say. He barely even noticed Dudley reading it as well, as the blond boy peeked over his shoulder:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

{ _Am I dreaming?_ } Harry couldn't help asking himself. { _Witchcraft and wizardry? I mean, this can't actually be happening – can it?_ }

"What does it mean, they await Harry's owl?" Dudley asked in confusion.

"Load of freaky tosh, son, that's what it is!" Uncle Vernon suddenly exploded. "I remember, when that grotesque old codger forced us to take the boy in – I actually asked that question myself. Then we had those blasted owls coming to the house at all hours of the night, didn't they, pecking away at the windows, didn't let us have a moment's peace – or a decent night's sleep! What's wrong with using the Royal Mail, I'd like to know? Turns out those freaks don't even use phones –"

"Some of us actually know what a phone is, Dursley," Snape interrupted, a scowl appearing on his face. "Now, mind your tongue – or perhaps something _**terrible**_ will happen."

"Like what?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"Unlike most wizards, I can navigate the muggle world with ease," Snape smiled, and Harry didn't like that smile – it was evil, and promised great cruelty to those it was aimed at. "It would be the simplest thing in the world for me to show up at your workplace, and manufacture enough evidence to prove you guilty of embezzlement and fraud, if not worse. I wouldn't even need any advanced magic, you know, a simple Confundus or two should suffice -"

"You, you can't do that! It's against the law! YOUR law!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Snape smiled lazily. "Do you really think anyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement actually _**cares**_ what happens to muggles like you and your husband, Petunia? I remember how Lily once said that the Wizengamot's laws were only as good as the people in charge of enforcing them... so just how much attention will the Aurors pay to your accusations against me? The only reason they'll even acknowledge your existence is the nephew you obviously loathe, have you forgotten that?"

"That's it, I've heard enough – get out, Mr. Snape, and take that blasted letter with you," Uncle Vernon interjected. "The boy's not going to that freak school, and that's that."

"Oh, really? You think _**you**_ can prevent it, Dursley?" Snape smiled that evil and malevolent smile again. "How, pray tell?"

"Simple. I'm not paying for some crackpot fools to teach the boy magic tricks," Uncle Vernon said stoutly. "He'll go to Stonewall High, and be grateful for it!"

Snape's smile turned into a sinister smirk. "Oddly enough, I would actually love to see that happen – but alas, that happy power does not rest with either me or you. The sad fact is Potter's parents had him enrolled since the day he was born, and Dumbledore has doubtless ensured that the boy's trust vault at Gringotts has enough gold to last him all seven years at Hogwarts. So, get used to the fact that Potter will be attending school there and spending his summers with you and your family, until he comes of age –"

"I said _**no**_!" Uncle Vernon shouted, and Harry had the oddest feeling that the man was trying to deny the inevitable, just like he'd been trying to deny Harry his Hogwarts letter for nearly a week now. "The brat's not going to that useless bloody school for freaks and weirdos, and that's _**final**_!"

"Dumbledore, you truly owe me for this. And Hagrid, you clumsy oaf, why'd you have to break your blasted leg like that..." Snape muttered to himself, but Harry still managed to hear the words. He had no idea who this 'Hagrid' was, but then the wizard withdrew his stick – wand – again and said angrily, "I have been very patient with you up until now, Dursley – but enough is enough. No more! Potter and I will be leaving this wretched place immediately – though, personally, I doubt he even wants anything to do with you and your family –"

"That's kidnapping," Aunt Petunia interjected, looking at Snape hatefully. "A crime in both worlds, and you know it! And don't you dare try to threaten us with a, a – what did Lily call it – a Memory Charm, you'd botch it completely!"

"Is that what you think?" Snape snarled at her.

"Yes, and – Dudley? What are you-?"

Harry suddenly noticed that his cousin was tugging on his aunt's sleeve and pointing at his uncle, who had gone to retrieve the long-ignored rifle on the other side of the room.

"Vernon, _**no**_!" Aunt Petunia screamed, but it was too late. Her husband had already taken aim, and was starting to pull the trigger –

 _ **Ka-BOOM!**_

Harry flinched at the weapon's loud roar (he'd just barely gotten the ringing to stop from the first gunshot), and then he flinched again when he saw Snape's smiling face. The wizard lowered his wand and said, "Protego. The Shield Charm – something so simple, a child could do it. Did you really think you could harm me, Dursley?"

Then the smile vanished. "I, on the other hand, can definitely harm you. It's too bad I'm not allowed to inflict any lasting damage, so a simple Stunner will have to do. Stupefy!"

A scarlet jet of light burst out from the wand, and Uncle Vernon keeled over, his weight such that the hut floor actually trembled from the huge impact of flesh meeting wood.

"VERNON!" "DAD!" Both Dursleys shouted at the same time, and rushed over towards the fallen man in question.

"Come along, Potter, time for us to go," Snape gestured impatiently.

For one timeless moment, Harry didn't move. And even though he didn't know it – two possible paths lay before him...

In one path, he obediently went with the Hogwarts professor and learned everything he needed to know from the school's Potions master – from a certain point of view, anyway – before eventually being sorted into Slytherin, growing up and slaying the murderer of his parents... before marrying the heiress known as Daphne Greengrass (and charming her best friend Tracy Davis into becoming his mistress, because (a) dogfather influence and (b) she was just that fanciable), and taking his place in pureblood wizarding society.

In the other path, he refused to accompany Snape anywhere, which infuriated the man to the point where he aimed his wand at the Boy-Who-Lived – and then, one burst of accidental magic later, Severus was engulfed in flames, and collapsed screaming before the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad showed up, who then immediately summoned the Aurors.

In the ensuing scandal, Dumbledore lost a lot of political capital when it became known he'd sent a marked Death Eater to meet with the British wizarding world's hero – and thus, Albus was unable to prevent the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, from personally stepping in and removing Harry from the home of his muggle relatives. Vague pleas about blood wards were ignored, since the old man refused to explain details and his credibility had plunged to an all-time low.

That was, in fact, partly why Dumbledore couldn't prevent Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, from making Harry a ward of the Ministry, which later resulted in the Chosen One being sorted into Hufflepuff, growing up and slaying the murderer of his parents... before marrying Amelia's niece Susan (and taking Hannah Abbott as their mistress, because (a) the two women shared everything together and (b) Neville Longbottom somehow ended up the owner of a highly popular pureblood sex dungeon), and rising to the rank of Head Auror in the DMLE.

Either way, the future didn't exactly look good for the Weasley family, and Hermione Jean Granger...

* * *

 **A/N:** 1) This 'might have been' initially begins at the end of chapter 3 (p. 45) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone', and all the text from therein does not belong to me!

2) The name Frugoldus Weasley (Ron's great-grandfather) is used courtesy of RHGroeninga and his fanfic "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley", thanks to that author for allowing me to use it!

3) As I was about to publish this story, I suddenly realized – it's been **twenty** _freaking_ _ **years**_ (to the day!) since I became a member of this site, and posted my first fanfic here. Not sure how to feel about that, except old!


	2. The Difference Just One Charge Can Make

**Chapter Two: The Difference Just One Charge Can Make**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

The white light emanating from the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities vanished, and the Golden Trio – still caught in the grip of their vision of a different timeline, one where Severus Snape had replaced Rubeus Hagrid in delivering Harry's Hogwarts letter all those years ago – flailed around blindly for a moment.

"What the bloody hell was _**that**_?" Ron demanded, as his vision cleared up and he took in the image of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from within the Mirror.

"Your grandfather – good old Seppy – he didn't explain much of how I work to you, did he, Weasel?" Mirror Draco said patronizingly. "Well, for those like you and Scarhead and the Gryffindor princess here –"

"Stop calling me that! Because I'm _**not**_ some scatterbrained idiot who needs to be pampered and protected, like something out of a fairy tale!" Hermione snarled at Mirror Draco.

"Sorry, but I already told you – not even the Weasel can order me to stop describing people as I see fit," Mirror Draco replied, now smiling broadly. "And as for the Weasel's other question, what you all saw and heard just now? That was just an example of my power – to show you one of the infinite possibilities, one of the 'might have beens' if things had happened differently back then."

"But how...?" Hermione asked blankly, and Ron could tell that her tremendous brain was struggling to make sense of what had just happened. He had to sympathize – _**he**_ couldn't figure it out either...

"Yeah, how'd you let us get inside the eleven-year-old Harry's head that way? I actually heard his thoughts – Hermione, did you-?" Ron asked, before the Granger girl started nodding vigorously.

"Oh, no – you, you two heard what I was _**thinking**_? Oh, God, I feel so embarrassed!" Harry's face flushed a deep purple-red color as he turned away, the mortification visible to everyone present.

"Never mind that, Harry! And it wasn't just you – I mean, that voice in my head telling me things just before the end, was that-?" Hermione abruptly turned and stared at Mirror Draco.

"Yep. You guessed right, princess, it was me," the image of the platinum-blond youth within the Mirror smirked at her. "And as for that question of how did I do what I did? Magic, of course!"

"Ugh. You're obviously just as much of a _**git**_ as the real Draco Malfoy, you know that?" Hermione snapped.

"I don't know any such thing, actually. I'm the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – I can be anything I want to be! Remember?" Mirror Draco shot back, grinning madly.

"Wait, stop, hold on a moment," Harry spoke up, holding a hand up to his forehead – his scar, Ron could help noting in alarm. "Are you saying – if Hagrid really had broken his leg back then, like Snape mentioned... then _**that's**_ what would have happened? I really would have become a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff, instead of a Gryffindor?"

"You simply don't listen, do you, Scarhead?" Mirror Draco now looked annoyed. "I already told you how that was just one possibility, not the _**only**_ one! There are lots of others – for example, McGonagall could have come to deliver your letter that night. Or Flitwick. Or Babbling. Or Vector. Or Trelawney. Even that boring-as-hell ghost Binns could have been selected for the job!"

"And – you're saying Harry wouldn't have ended up dating Ginny, if he hadn't become a Gryffindor?" Ron mused, looking at his best mate curiously. Harry went red with embarrassment all over again, but Ron ignored that and added, "He would have caught the interest of Sue Bones? _**And**_ Hannah Abbott? Or else those two Slytherin birds, whoever they were?"

"Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis. Honestly, Ron, didn't you pay any attention to the other students at Hogwarts?" Hermione sniped at him.

"I would have, if I actually knew who they were! It's a big school, you know," Ron defended himself.

"I know who they are," Harry spoke up, looking contemplative now. "I noticed them a few times during meals in the Great Hall, actually, those two were always sitting on their own with Blaise Zabini..."

"Oh! Right, I know him – he's the bloke whose mum got married seven times, with all of her husbands dying in mysterious circumstances and leaving her a ruddy fortune," Ron nodded, before his eyes went wide. "Wait, hang on – I _**have**_ seen those two Slytherin girls, after all! I remember now – Davis is the dark-haired one with the good-looking arse and heart-shaped face, isn't she? And Greengrass, she's the unforgettable blond one with the huge knockers – OW!"

Ron started hopping around on one foot, grabbing his aching left leg in pain and glaring at Hermione. "What the bleeding heck was that for?!"

"If you honestly can't figure it out, Weasel, then you're even stupider than you look," Mirror Draco smirked at him knowingly.

"Getting back on topic – you said that Harry eventually ended up slaying the killer of his parents, whether he was sorted into Hufflepuff or Slytherin," Hermione said primly, ignoring the ginger's moans of pain. "All right, I want details –"

"Well, you're not going to get them, princess – and no point asking the Weasel to get me to provide them, either," Mirror Draco quickly added, as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "Besides – I'd have thought you'd be more interested in learning how Longbottom eventually ended up running a sex dungeon, for rich purebloods?"

Hermione's face went red as Ron (who had stopped hopping around and moaning, by this point) asked in confusion, "Yeah, uh, what exactly is a-?"

"NEVER MIND!" Hermione shrieked, as both Harry and Ron winced at the sheer volume of her voice. "And just for the record, I _**refuse**_ to believe that someone as moral and steadfast and, and Gryffindor as Neville could ever end up doing something like _**that**_ for a living!"

"You mean, just like Peter Pettigrew's friends would have refused to ever believe that he was going to betray them, and spy for the Dark Lard?" Mirror Draco shot back, an odd glint in his eyes. "Just like you and the Weasel and the Scarhead would have refused to believe Loopy the werewolf wanted to ditch his wife and kid, if you hadn't witnessed it for yourselves? So don't lecture _**me**_ on what is and isn't possible, princess. Plus, there are other questions you'd be wise to ask me."

"Like what?" Ron demanded, before getting the nasty feeling he shouldn't have asked, that he wouldn't want to know –

"Well, if Scarhead here had ended up in Slytherin, the way the Sorting Hat thought he should have... would Dumbledore have had a wizard coronary? Would Snape have had to pretend to be nice to the Pot-head in public, and give him House points? Would Malfoy have had to leave him alone, whatever his father's orders had been? Would Scarhead have won the House Cup for Slytherin every year? Would there have been open war between him and the Weasley twins in the castle halls? Would Zabini have taught the dunderhead how to use his fame in order to shag lots of witches, the moment puberty set in? Would –"

"That's _**enough**_!" Hermione screamed in disgust, glaring at Mirror Draco. "You, you are the most revolting, the most _**horrid**_ magical artefact I've ever come across! Your mind – if you even have one – is the vilest gutter it's ever been my misfortune to encounter!"

"Thanks, princess, I'll take that as a compliment," Mirror Draco smirked in extreme satisfaction.

" _ **You**_ – wait, I just remembered. What exactly did you mean by, 'either way, the future didn't exactly look good' for me?" Hermione suddenly demanded, her face growing somewhat pale.

"Well, think about it," Mirror Draco smirked. "What happened back in your first year? And what would have been different, if the Pot-head hadn't been there to make the Weasel pull his head out of his arse that Halloween?"

"Oi!" Ron shouted in annoyance, before he noticed Hermione grow even paler. "Hermione, what-?"

"No," she muttered thickly, shaking her bushy mane of hair. "No, no, no..."

"Yes, actually," Mirror Draco grinned sadistically. "Death by troll, princess. Really nasty way to go, too, wouldn't you say?"

"NO!" Ron shouted angrily, his face reflecting both the fear and horror he felt upon hearing that. "It wouldn't have happened that way! It couldn't have!"

"Oh, it could have, all right," Mirror Draco replied, looking amused. "Then again, your brother Percy might have saved Granger's life that night, perfect prefect that he was – at the expense of his own survival, anyway. Or maybe dying in vain? I _**did**_ mention that that future didn't look good for you and your family, remember? Especially your sister, the Weaselette..."

"Ginny? What about her?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked, Pot-head! Hrmm... let me show you how things could have turned out with regards to her, towards the end of your second year!" Mirror Draco smiled evilly, and then that blinding white light erupted out of the enchanted mirror once more.

This time, the Golden Trio saw and heard –

* * *

 **Tunnel leading to the Chamber of Secrets, beneath Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **May 29th, 1993**

Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and still see, Harry edged forward, his lit wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long, at least at the point of shedding.

"Blimey," Ron said weakly. Harry couldn't blame him; they'd known the basilisk that had been terrorizing the school this year would be big, but not _**this**_ big!

There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart – Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, fraud and a disgrace to teachers everywhere (not to mention wizardkind in general) – his knees had given way.

"Get up," Ron said sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet – then unexpectedly he dived at Ron, knocking him to the ground.

Harry jumped forward, but too late – Lockhart was straightening up, panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile on his somewhat sweaty, nervous face.

"The adventure ends here, boys!" he said, loud and clear. "I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two –"

That was all he managed to say, though, before Ron got to his feet and charged at Lockhart, slamming his intended target into the nearest tunnel wall, taking the fraud completely by surprise – and rendering him thoroughly unconscious.

"Bloody git," Ron growled, before he gave the insensate professor a vicious kick directly in the kidneys. Lockhart twitched slightly, but didn't wake up. The ginger then grabbed his Spell-o-taped wand back before he turned to Harry and said, "C'mon, let's go!"

Harry hesitated. "We're just going to leave Lockhart here?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Who's more important – Ginny, or him?"

{ _Good point,_ } Harry shrugged to himself, quickly recalling that message on the wall; 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' "You're right. Come on, then..."

The two boys set off down the tunnel, the taller redhead with his longer stride quickly overtaking Harry in his desperation to find his missing little sister. Harry lost track of time during the journey – and then, at last, as they came around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

"Is this it, you reckon?" Ron asked cautiously, looking at the wall with some trepidation.

"Yeah." Harry could guess what he had to do next. So he cleared his throat, and the serpents' emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

" _Open_ ," Harry said in parseltongue, in what sounded to Ron like a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry followed his best mate into the legendary Chamber as Ron yelled out, "GINNY! GINNY!"

{ _Bloody hell, there goes any hope for surprise..._ } Harry thought to himself worriedly, withdrawing his wand as they ran through the very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Harry couldn't help noticing there was nothing but silence apart from his and Ron's footsteps, which were echoing loudly through the Chamber. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny? Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he and Ron had been forced to come here alone, that none of the adults were present to help –

"GINNY! There she is!" Ron called out excitedly, as they drew level with the last pair of pillars.

Just for a moment, Harry couldn't help staring at a statue as high as the Chamber itself, standing against the back wall. He had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: it was ancient and monkey-ish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay the small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair whom Ron had identified as Ginevra Molly Weasley.

"Is she alive?" Harry blurted out without thinking. Before he berated himself for an idiot, asking Ginny's big brother of all people that!

Ron dropped to his knees. "Ginny – don't be dead – please don't be dead –" He flung his damaged wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned his little sister over.

Her face was as white as marble, and yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. Harry thought maybe she might be –

"She's _**not**_ dead!" Ron muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side. "Come on, Harry, help me get her out of here!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a soft voice, just as Harry put his wand away and moved to grab Ginny's legs.

Harry jumped and spun around to face the source of that unexpected voice. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching them. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking his face and form.

"Tom – Tom Riddle?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Harry, you know this bloke?" Ron demanded, taking in the older boy's appearance – the color of his House tie – before Weasley's eyes narrowed. "You're a Slytherin. And what did you mean, we shouldn't do that?"

"She won't wake up. She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. As far as he knew, Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago – yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen. { _This doesn't make any sense, he should be nearly seventy years old by now..._ }

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"A memory," Riddle replied quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there – but there were more pressing matters to deal with right now.

"You've got to help us, Tom," Harry said, as Ron lowered Ginny's head to the floor and came to stand alongside him. "We've got to get Ginny out of here. There's a basilisk... I don't know where it is, but it could be here at any moment... Please, help –"

"A memory?" Ron interrupted. He then pointed to the badge pinned to Tom's Hogwarts robes. "And if you're a prefect, then why haven't you brought a professor for help or something?"

Riddle ignored the question and picked up Ron's discarded wand off the floor. He examined it carefully, before turning up his nose in disgust. "It's damaged. Why haven't you repaired it, or gotten a new wand?"

"Who the hell bloody cares about that right now, you _**arse**_?!" Ron roared, the tips of his ears turning a tell-tale shade of red. Harry knew the topic was a sore one, given the Weasley family's lack of money, but Ron was right – that wasn't a priority right now. "Now are you going to help us carry Gin out of here, or not?"

"Calm down. And if you're worried about the basilisk, it won't come – not unless it's called," Tom replied, again refusing to answer the question.

"Bugger this, Harry – grab Ginny's legs, we don't need him –" Ron started to say.

"Stupefy!" Riddle suddenly shouted, and a stream of red light shot out of Ron's damaged wand and rendered the Weasley as unconscious as his sister. "That's better."

"RON!" Harry shouted, as he ran over to check on his friend. Then he looked back at Riddle and said, "Why did you-?"

"Because he was incredibly annoying, and I've been waiting a long time for this, Harry Potter," Riddle replied, twirling Ron's wand around. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."

"Me? Why me?"

"Well, that's an interesting question," Riddle said pleasantly. "And the answer has to do with how Ginny opened her heart, and spilled all her secrets, to me."

"What _**are**_ you talking about?" Harry demanded, both annoyed and starting to get a very bad feeling about this.

"The diary," said Riddle. "Poor little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes – how her brothers always tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how..." – Riddle's eyes glinted – "...how she didn't think the famous, _**great**_ Harry Potter would ever like her..."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost... hungry look in them.

"It's been very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl; useless things that they are," Riddle went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, and kind. Ginny simply _**loved**_ me. 'No one's ever understood me like you, Tom... I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket...'"

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't seem to suit him at all. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck. Riddle then continued his evil monologue about how easy it had been to fool Ron's sister, and how delighted he'd been that Harry had eventually found the Diary – that Riddle had been anxiously waiting for the chance to meet him...

"And why'd you want to meet me?" Harry demanded, clenching his hands into fists tightly. Anger was coursing through him now, and it was quite an effort to keep his voice steady and not respond foolishly to Tom's mocking tone. The moment he withdrew his wand, Riddle would undoubtedly hex him before he could get a single spell off –

"Well, you see – Ginny told me all about you, Harry," Riddle said, eyeing him carefully. "Your whole fascinating history." His eyes roved over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and Tom's expression grew hungrier. "I knew I had to find out more about you, talk to you, meet you down here if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust –"

"Hagrid's my friend," Harry interrupted, his voice now shaking. "And you framed him for what happened then, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but you actually –"

Riddle laughed his high, cold laugh again. "It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. That's why he persuaded the Headmaster, Dippet, to keep Hagrid on and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed the truth... he never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did..."

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," Harry replied, his teeth gritted.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," Riddle replied carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again, while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste all those long years I'd spent searching for it. Thus I made plans so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's most noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," Harry responded triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even that bloody cat. In a few hours, the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again –"

"Haven't you realized," Riddle interrupted quietly, "that killing mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been – you."

Harry stared at him. Riddle then went on and on about how he'd forced Ginny to write her own epitaph on the wall and come down here to the Chamber, all because he had questions to ask the Boy-Who-Lived...

"What do you want to know?" Harry spat, fists still clenched. He glanced back at Ron and Ginny, just for a moment, but they were both still unconscious. { _How am I going to get them both out of here? I should wake up Ron first, I suppose, unlike Ginny he's just been hit with a Stunner..._ }

"Well, for starters," Riddle replied, smiling pleasantly and distracting Harry from his thoughts, "how is it that you – a skinny little boy with no extraordinary magical talent – managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar that night, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd, reddish gleam in Tom Riddle's eyes now. Harry ignored it and said, "Why do _**you**_ care how I escaped death from the Killing Curse? Voldemort was long after your time..."

"Oh, Harry. Voldemort," Riddle said softly, "is my past, present, and future. Haven't you figured it out yet...?"

Riddle used Ron's stolen wand began to wave it through the air, writing three shimmering words: 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.' Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

'I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.'

Riddle started talking again, prattling on about how he'd changed his name and planned to become the world's greatest sorcerer and what-not, but Harry's brain seemed to have jammed to a halt. He stared numbly at Tom Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own parents, and so many others... At last, he forced himself to speak.

"You're not," Harry said, his quiet voice full of hatred.

"Not what?" snapped Riddle.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," Harry told him, breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you still didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts, did you? Dumbledore saw through you when you were just a student, and he still frightens you now, wherever the real you is hiding these days –"

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. "Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere _**memory**_ of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He merely wanted to scare his opponent, or else distract Riddle long enough to bring his wand out, rather than truly stating a fact. And so Riddle opened his mouth to reply, but then he froze.

A song had burst into existence, somewhere close by. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber, as the song grew louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, and unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp, and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the song reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird song to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail, as long as a peacock's – and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

"That's a phoenix..." Riddle said slowly, staring shrewdly back at it.

"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.

"And that..." Riddle went on, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the school Sorting Hat!"

Indeed, it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the Sorting Hat lay motionless at Harry's feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the Chamber echoed with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once. "So _**this**_ is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel safe now, Harry Potter? The coward didn't bother to come himself!"

"Wha's goin' on-?" Ron's voice suddenly distracted them both, as the ginger _**finally**_ woke up.

"RON!" Harry shrieked, glancing back at his friend. "Grab Ginny and go! I'll keep him distracted –"

"Answer me, Potter," Riddle went on, ignoring the exchange. "In your past, and my future – we have met. And somehow, I failed to kill you. How, _**how**_ did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you stay alive."

"What? What's he goin' on about-?" Ron shook his head as if to clear it, looking completely confused. "Ginny!"

Ignoring everyone and everything else, Ron got to his feet and grabbed his little sister. Finally deigning to take notice of him, Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed; and Harry understood what the teenage version of Voldemort was saying, even if Ron didn't.

" _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_."

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder. He saw how Salazar Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horror-struck, Harry witnessed the mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

{ _The basilisk! He's summoned it!_ } Harry thought madly. Stumbling backwards, he grabbed a confused Ron and dragged him away, as Fawkes keened loudly and took off from his shoulder.

"No! HARRY! We can't just leave her-!" Ron protested, pointing at Ginny.

"The basilisk's coming!" Harry yelled at him, "It'll kill us, the moment we look at it!" He dragged Ron all the way to the nearest Chamber wall...

Just before they got there, Riddle hissed at the King of Serpents, " _Kill them both_."

Harry was pretty sure that both he and his best mate, not to mention Ginny, were doomed – but then he realized the enormous green serpent was distracted by Fawkes. The phoenix was soaring around the serpent's head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at the bird, with fangs as long and thin as sabers –

Fawkes dived. His long, golden beak darted forward and sank out of sight, and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry and Ron; and before the boys could think to avert their eyes, they looked straight into the serpent's face. The basilisk's eyes – both its great, bulbous yellow eyes – had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.

"NO!" Riddle screamed in fury, and Harry couldn't help noticing Tom's outline was becoming clearer, more solid... which probably meant nothing good, as far as Ginny was concerned. " _FORGET THE BIRD! YOU CAN STILL SMELL THE WIZARDS! KILL THEM!_ "

The next few minutes were a nightmare come to life, as Harry and Ron ran from the basilisk, keeping to the walls and hiding as best they could. Along the way, they picked up the Sorting Hat – and hoping that the manky old piece of fabric could help somehow, Harry put it on top of his head as they ran.

A few minutes later, Harry's head was hit with something heavy; a gleaming silver sword, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs...

Unfortunately, even blind, the basilisk eventually caught up with them after Harry and Ron had climbed up Slytherin's statue. Lashing out blindly, Harry stabbed at it with the silver sword, and his luck was incredible – the blade went all the way to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth...

"HARRY!" Ron yelled, as the Boy-Who-Lived felt a searing pain just above the elbow, and white-hot agony coursed through Harry's body as the basilisk fang snapped off at the same time the beast collapsed to the ground, thoroughly dead.

Ron yanked the fang out and said desperately, "Harry? HARRY! Don't die – don't die, please! I – what the bloody hell-?"

Harry noticed dimly that Fawkes had landed on his arm, as the phoenix's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the phoenix's face, and dropping into the bloody wound.

"Wicked," Ron breathed, as Harry's pain abruptly vanished and his eyes managed to focus down on his wound – except the wound wasn't there anymore. A now-healed patch of scar tissue marked where he'd been bitten. Ginny's brother then added, "Fawkes, you're magnificent! Harry, are you okay?"

"I, I think so," Harry stammered. "But how-?"

"Phoenix tears," Ron told him, helping him up. "My brother Perce mentioned it once – exactly the sort of thing he'd know – the tears of a phoenix can heal any wound. Overcome any poison. Even basilisk venom, it looks like."

"Oh, good," Harry said vaguely, marveling at how close he'd come to death and yet surviving. Again.

"C'mon, we've still got to rescue Ginny!" Ron said grimly, as the boys made their way down the statue and Fawkes vanished in a burst of golden fire.

The two boys made their way back to Tom Riddle, as Harry passed the sword to Ron and withdrew his own wand. The former prefect just stared at them, before his features curled into a soft sneer.

"So. You killed the basilisk, bully for you! But it doesn't matter, Harry. You haven't won; in fact, you haven't even postponed the inevitable. I'm almost fully alive, and you can't stop the process, either –"

"Incendio! Immobulus! Rictusempra!" Harry cast all the spells he knew, everything he had learned over the past two years at Hogwarts. But all his efforts were futile, before Ron – Gryffindor to the point of mindless, knee-jerk heroics – charged at Tom Riddle with the silver sword in his hand.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Riddle cast the Killing Curse with the broken wand, which subsequently exploded into splinters in his hand – but not before the emerald-green light burst from the wand and Ronald Bilius Weasley collapsed face-down into the ground, mid-flight.

"RON!" Harry immediately went over to check on his friend, but it was too late; the Weasley was as dead as a doornail. Harry started hyperventilating with shock and horror –

"Is that it? Is that all you have, Harry? If so, then that was truly _**pathetic**_ ," Riddle sneered, as Harry looked up at him. "As last stands go, it _**really**_ left a lot to be desired. And now, oh, yes, at any moment now..."

Harry followed Riddle's gaze, staring at Ginny down on the floor – as the diary suddenly erupted in flames, and the Weasley girl's eyes opened for one timeless instant.

And then her skin turned from white to ash-grey, and Ginny's body started to crumble apart.

"No!" Harry yelled in horror. "No, _**no**_ , NOOOO!"

But to no avail. Ginny's body was already dissolving, collapsing into ashes, and in moments there was nothing but a set of dusty Hogwarts first year robes present.

Her parents wouldn't even have a body to bury, later on.

Riddle yelled exultantly, "I'M ALIVE!", and Harry knew it was true; the sixteen-year-old boy was no longer blurry around at the edges, at all, and Riddle took several deep breaths, before triumphant mad laughter began to echo throughout the Chamber.

The laughter abruptly turned into a choked gasping, though, as Tom blinked – and saw that he'd been run through with the silver sword Ron had dropped, before he'd been killed mere moments prior to his sister's death. "What-?"

Harry was heaving great gasps of air, not even remembering picking up the sword and running his enemy through. And yet, the evidence was right there in front of him. { _Did I do that? I... I think I did. I must have, mustn't I?_ }

"Not – possible," Riddle choked out, before collapsing to his knees and then onto his side. "You can't... have killed... me... twice..."

"Three times, actually," Harry corrected the resurrected shade of his parents' murderer.

"Wha..." Riddle gasped in agony.

"The Halloween when I was fifteen months old, last year when your shade tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone; and now this," Harry enumerated each time his enemy had been defeated, his lips quirking upwards slightly as he saw Riddle's eyes widen with shock and panic.

"That's three times now you've lost against me, Tom," Harry said, briefly _**enjoying**_ the expression of mixed rage, dread and horror on the other boy's face – before taking in Ron's corpse not far away, and Ginny's dusty robes, and then all such feelings vanished. He simply added, "Maybe you should just give up on coming back to life, since I always seem to beat you, somehow."

Harry then watched Riddle twitch and spasm in agony, as the serpentine poison on the blade started to make its way through the brand-new body. At the back of his mind, the memory of confronting Professor Quirrell last year and watching him die after burning him surfaced – but Harry quickly banished it, wanting to make sure Riddle didn't pull off some sort of miracle and save himself...

He didn't. In less than forty-five seconds, Tom Marvolo Riddle was dead from the poisoned blade, just as dead as Ron and Ginny. Harry just stared at the body, wondering what to do next...

"I say, Harry," Gilderoy Lockhart's voice intruded on his consciousness, as Harry turned and stared at the so-called professor, who had _**finally**_ entered the Chamber after regaining consciousness in the nearby tunnel. "What have you _**done**_?"

All things considered, it was fortunate for Lockhart that Harry didn't immediately either hex him or stab him with the basilisk fang.

Well, it was fortunate until the ensuing investigation by the DMLE uncovered the _**whole**_ truth, and Gilderoy ended up in Azkaban for his crimes – right next to the cell containing Sirius Black.

If there was only one positive thing to come out of this whole tragic affair, it was how Sirius ended up escaping Azkaban earlier than he otherwise would have, to seek out his godson...

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and PM'ed about this story so far! All feedback is truly most appreciated, and I hope you keep it coming. Oh, and this 'might have been' initially begins near the end of chapter 16 (p. 303) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,' and everything from therein definitely does not belong to me!


	3. A Funeral To Remember

**Chapter Three: A Funeral To Remember**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

The white light vanished out of existence, and once again the Golden Trio flailed around for a moment – before reality reasserted itself, and the memories of what they had just seen and heard via the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities took hold in their minds.

"No. No..." Ron choked, looking like he was about to throw up. Harry wouldn't have blamed him if he did – he felt like he was about to vomit himself – but then Ron stumbled backwards, muttering, "I-I-I got Ginny killed –"

"NO! Ron, don't think that!" Hermione managed to catch the ginger in her grasp, and forced him to look into her eyes. "Your sister _**isn't**_ dead! Do you hear me? Everything we saw and heard just now, it never happened!"

"You don't understand," Ron said thickly, still looking as if he was about to be violently ill. "It could have happened, sodding hell – it almost _**did**_..."

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling confused.

"I remember," Ron shook his head, obviously trying to clear that horrible _**nightmare**_ out of his thoughts. "That bit where everything changed – when I charged Lockhart, and slammed him into the wall? I remember thinking of doing that, I was _**going**_ to do it – but then I froze. I couldn't move, I was so ashamed of myself but still – I couldn't. All these years, I've often wondered what might have happened if I hadn't been such a coward at that moment, but now that I know –"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you _**listen**_ to me!" Hermione shouted, grabbing Ron's head and forcing him to look at her. "You are _**not**_ a coward! Do you understand me? You're not! Would a coward have ever chosen to come with me and Harry on the Horcrux hunt? Would a coward have gone to the Ministry along with the rest of us, in order to rescue Sirius? Would a coward have stood in front of Harry on a broken leg, saying that anyone who wanted to kill his best friend would have to kill him first? Would a coward have followed Harry into the Forbidden Forest and faced his worst nightmare, in the form of those acromantulas? So _**stop**_ accusing yourself of cowardice, Ron, because I won't stand for it! You hear me? I _**won't**_!"

{ _Bloody hell,_ } Harry thought to himself in amazement, after listening to Hermione's speech. { _I reckon Ron was right all along, Hermione's brilliant_ _ **and**_ _scary! And it's true enough, my best mate really did do all those things, he..._ }

At that moment, Harry became aware that his two friends were standing very close together, that Hermione still held Ron's head in her hands and that their lips were almost touching. So he couldn't help asking himself, { _Are those two finally going to snog each other now?_ }

"Oh, go ahead and just ignore me, all of you," Mirror Draco spoke up, instantly ruining the mood as Ron and Hermione broke apart and glared at the image of their nemesis within the magical mirror. "Not like _**I'm**_ going to be sick at the sight of all this, am I? And I should have known you wouldn't want to ask questions about what happened, after all that..."

"What did happen? We all heard your voice again at the end, saying that Sirius broke out of Azkaban earlier than he otherwise would have... so, yeah, what happened next?" Harry wanted to know, suddenly feeling excited.

"What can I say, Pot-head? Black finally got off his arse and came for you, sure. But given what had happened to you, up until that point? Before he showed up, you'd decided to either curl up into a ball and wish the world would go away, or else become a bit more pro-active in terms of ensuring the safety of the people you cared about," Mirror Draco smirked. "Not saying there weren't other possibilities, like you killing your Aunt Marge with that accidental magic instead of just blowing her up like a balloon – but those would be the two main ones, yeah. Making her go _**pop**_! would have been cool, though!"

"Which means what?" Ron spoke up, now looking to be a little more in control of himself, emotionally speaking.

"You tell me, Weasel. What do you reckon would have happened during your O.W.L.s year, if the Pink Toad had decided to make Scarhead's life utterly miserable that way? One possibility is that Umbridge would have ended up raped to death by those centaurs, after the Pot-head lured her out into the Forbidden Forest," Mirror Draco smirked. "Or, if your best mate had simply retreated inside his head and ended up in the Janus Thickey Ward alongside Fatbottom's parents, Moldy-shorts would have chosen some other way – some other witch or wizard – to come back to life. Like I said – possibilities are endless, aren't they?"

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you? You get some sort of sick pleasure trying to torment us this way! What on earth was Ron's great-grandfather _**thinking**_ when he created you? I don't understand how –" Hermione started to rant furiously.

"You watch your mouth talking about my creator, you little _**cow**_ ," Mirror Draco interrupted furiously, his eyes narrowed and sparkling with hatred. "I won't stand for –"

"You ever call Hermione that again, even just once more – and I'll personally smash you into little pieces," Ron interrupted with a vicious growl, looking enraged by the slur against his friend. "I may not be able to order you to stop it with the insults, but I _**can**_ make you pay for them! Understand?"

"Yeah, Weasel, I hear you," Mirror Draco replied sulkily.

"So, what else?" Hermione frowned. "I mean, what would have happened to _**me**_ after Ron and Ginny died? Their deaths wouldn't have interfered with the Mandrake Draught being prepared to wake me up, or so I'd assume..."

"There are a few possibilities where it would have interfered, actually, but in the main you're right – and after being de-petrified and discovering how those two had been killed, in most possibilities, you confess everything to your parents after the end of the school year. Hugo and Jean Granger learn one of their daughter's few friends has been murdered, and then you get yanked out of that castle quicker than you can say, 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'! And what happens when the muggleborn purge begins, a few years later? Nothing good for you..."

"Supercali – what? Is that even a word?" Ron asked in confusion, looking around at Harry and Hermione.

"A muggle one, yeah. Don't worry about it for now, Ron," Harry shook his head, glad to see that his friend seemed to have mostly recovered from his earlier shock, after witnessing his and Ginny's deaths. "Anyway, I reckon I've heard enough; we've wasted too much time on this blasted mirror as it is –"

"No, I want to know more," Hermione interrupted firmly, sending him a scolding look. "I want to learn how this thing works! I mean, despite the personality defects –"

"Hello, Pot? This is Kettle. You're black," Mirror Draco interrupted snidely.

Hermione ignored that completely. "As I was saying, technically, this mirror is a magical miracle! And let's face it, Harry – what else do we have to do right now, while we're waiting for Kreacher to arrive with Mundungus Fletcher, and hopefully Slytherin's locket as well? Before Remus showed up, Ron was driving me batty with his Deluminator, even though I was just re-reading all the books Sirius had in the Black library..."

"Is that all I am to you lot, then? A way to simply pass the time? Something for your personal entertainment?" Mirror Draco sneered at the Golden Trio. "And you can forget about trying to learn any of my secrets, princess – Master Frugoldus built me with so many safeguards, you don't stand a chance of doing that!"

"So what do we do with you, then?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "Get you to show us a world where we get a happy ending, or something?"

"Oh! You mean the very _**remote**_ possibility where all of the Death Eaters, along with their entire families, died painfully but quickly, when Dumbledore performed a ritual in the Wizengamot to prove that they really were remorseful for all their actions – but he then sneezed at the wrong moment, and accidentally opened up a portal to Hell, which engulfed the entire chamber?" Mirror Draco asked sneeringly.

The trio just stared at the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities in shocked silence.

"No, I guess not," Mirror Draco said musingly. "Well, then, maybe... oh, yes, I know just the thing!"

"Now, hold on a moment, what exactly are you-?" Harry started to say worriedly.

But it was too late – the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities had already started emitting that blinding white light, and the next moment, the three magical teenagers saw and heard –

* * *

 **Hospital wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **November 6th, 1993**

Harry was thinking about what the Dementors had done to him during the Quidditch match today... about the screaming female voice he'd heard, thanks to their influence. But then he looked up and saw Ron and Hermione looking at him anxiously – so much so, that he quickly cast around for something matter-of-fact to say.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?" he asked, suddenly recalling his prized broomstick.

Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other. "Er," they both said in unison.

"What?" said Harry, looking from one to the other.

"Well... when you fell off, your broom got blown away," said Hermione hesitantly.

"And?" Harry demanded.

"And it hit – it hit – oh, Harry – it hit the Whomping Willow," she said unhappily.

Harry's insides lurched. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds. "And?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"And – well, you remember what the Whomping Willow's like, mate," Ron said uncomfortably, referring to that unforgettable event during the previous year, when he and Harry had crashed his father's flying car into the tree in question. "It – it doesn't like being hit."

"Professor Flitwick brought the remains back just before you came around," Hermione finished up in a very small voice.

Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped roughly a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed – the only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick.

"Oh no," Harry whispered, feeling like he'd just lost one of his best friends. "No, no, it can't be..."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione tried to be comforting, even though that was a hopeless endeavor. "It's just – smashed beyond repair, you know, there's nothing anyone can do..."

"So, that's it? I just get another broom from McGonagall, forget this ever happened?" Harry demanded, an angry tone creeping into his voice.

"No, 'course not!" Ron said hastily. Then he said musingly, "Huh. No reason we can't give your Nimbus 2000 a proper send-off, is there?"

"What do you mean?" Harry and Hermione asked together.

"Yeah, that'll work!" Ron said enthusiastically, caught up in his own thoughts for a moment. "Don't worry, mate, I'll make all the arrangements! We'll give your broomstick a decent funeral, I promise you, or my name's not Ron Weasley!" With that, the ginger turned around and rushed out of the room.

{ _A funeral for my Nimbus 2000?_ } Harry thought vaguely to himself, as he noticed Hermione staring open-mouthed at the door where Ron had just now exited the hospital wing. Then he glanced down at the remains of his broomstick, before the Boy-Who-Lived reached over for the bag and gently gathered the few pitiful remains back into the container.

{ _Well, why not? Ron's right – it'd be the best way to say goodbye to a good friend..._ }

* * *

 **Hogwarts grounds, not far from the Whomping Willow**

 **The next day**

Hermione still couldn't believe this was actually happening.

Okay, she'd encountered a lot of things in the realm of oddness since the day Professor McGonagall had shown up at her house with her Hogwarts letter, and told her and her parents that she was a witch...

A troll. A basilisk. Talking portraits. Ghosts and magic of all kinds.

But this? A funeral for a _**broom**_ , of all things?

{ _Only in the wizarding world,_ } Hermione sighed to herself, as she wondered – and not for the first time – how she'd been persuaded to go along with this sort of lunacy. Then she took note of a mournful-looking Harry standing at her side. { _Oh, yes, that's how..._ }

She looked around, and saw Harry's teammates standing close to their captain and dressed in their Quidditch robes. Someone had persuaded Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell to wear black widow's veils for the occasion, and Fred and George – Ron's older brothers – were wearing black top hats. The two pranksters were grinning madly, while Oliver Wood was looking as grim and heart-broken as if an actual person had died.

{ _Quidditch nuts, the lot of them. Still, this rather reminds me of that old James Bond movie, "Live And Let Die". And it's not like a kidnapping is unheard of here at Hogwarts,_ } the Granger girl reflected to herself.

"Hem-hem," Ron cleared his throat, gathering everyone's attention. The young man then went on, "My friends, fellow Gryffindors and Hogwarts students. We're gathered here today to say goodbye to a loyal companion and a faithful friend; Harry's Nimbus 2000."

"Hear, hear," Fred – or was it George? – spoke up.

"Great girl, she was," George – or Fred – responded.

"George is right; that broomstick was definitely more than just an 'it', a piece of wood with twigs attached," Ron nodded and went on, and Hermione noticed how that remark immediately caught Harry's attention. "Like the great ships of the air, Harry's Nimbus 2000 was definitely a 'she'. And 'she' was, without a doubt, the greatest ride I've ever experienced!"

"Well said, little bro," Fred said, with a huge grin on his face. "I remember my first time with her, y'know – it was incredible to actually feel her between my legs, to mount her and ride her like there was no tomorrow..."

{ _OHHHH!_ } Hermione's face burned scarlet and the three female Chasers giggled, as they caught the sexual innuendo. { _How_ _ **dare**_ _Fred say that at a funeral – no, wait, what am I thinking? This isn't a_ _ **real**_ _funeral, it's a stupid farewell for a lousy broomstick of all things!_ }

"Doesn't compare to my first time with her," George responded to his twin's eulogy. "The first time Harry ever let me ride her, I felt like smoking a fag afterwards, it was such a thrill..."

All of a sudden, Oliver – a seventh year who (up until now, anyway) Hermione had held some respect for, for his dedicated and unquestionable work ethic – he fell to his knees and openly started sobbing. The brightest witch of her age was flabbergasted, { _What on_ _ **earth**_ _is he –_ }

"It's not right, it's not fair! She was taken from us too soon," Oliver sobbed, which instantly made Hermione want to clobber him. "Harry's broomstick still had so much to look forward to! Winning the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup – and not just this year, but for the rest of Harry's time here at the school! Then there would have been the big leagues – and maybe, just maybe, one day, the Quidditch World Cup..."

"There, there," Harry awkwardly comforted his captain, while Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from exploding in annoyance. It didn't help that Angelina, Alicia and Katie were giggling nonstop by this point, and Fred and George were likewise snorting with laughter.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Oliver," Harry went on, oblivious to the mirth of his teammates, "but I'm not even fourteen yet, honestly – I mean, the Quidditch World Cup?"

"I reckon you could do it, mate," Ron said loyally, and just for a moment, Hermione forgot to be angry over this _**farce**_ in the face of her best friend's honesty and compassion. "You were born to fly, Harry, and Charlie told me he thinks you could play Seeker for England, after you finish up at Hogwarts! It's just too bad your Nimbus won't be there, to share in the glory..."

{ _Honestly, how can he act like Quidditch is the meaning of life this way?_ } Hermione quickly got annoyed all over again. { _I swear, any moment now..._ }

"Ron's right," Wood sniffed, as the team captain finally got up off his knees and wiped away the tears. "I'm sorry, everyone. It's just – I never even got the chance to ride her –"

"THAT'S IT!" Hermione suddenly yelled, her patience and self-control finally exhausted. "IT WAS JUST A BROOM, FOR PITY'S SAKE! HAVE YOU PEOPLE GONE MAD, OR SOMETHING?!"

There was a long moment of silence, before Ron stared at her in shock and said, "Hermione! Have you no respect for the dead?"

"No respect for Quidditch, more like," Fred sniffed, even though he was still grinning like a loon.

"I'm surprised at you, Hermione. Don't you know how important Quidditch is to our Harry, here?" George asked in fake surprise, his grin growing even bigger than that of his twin.

{ _Grrrrr..._ } Hermione growled to herself, after seeing Harry staring at her with a look of betrayal and confusion plastered all over his face. { _I don't believe this! Still, it's probably more or less what I deserve, choosing to be best friends with a couple of_ _ **boys**_ _..._ }

"And what are you three laughing at?" Hermione semi-snarled at the three Chasers.

"Nothing," Alicia choked out, trying not to snicker and grabbing hold of George's hand.

"Not a blessed thing," Angelina likewise choked out, and grabbing hold of Fred's hand.

"Nothing funny as far as I'm concerned," Katie shook her head violently. "This is a funeral, after all."

"Right, let's not dwell and all – it's time for the burial," Ron spoke up. The annoyed look on the ginger's face instantly made Hermione want to do something drastic.

Damn it all – she never used to get into these situations, before she became best friends with Ronald bloody Weasley and Harry effing Potter!

Somehow, _**somehow**_ Hermione managed to keep her mouth shut as Oliver used his wand to dig a shallow grave into the grass-covered earth, and then Harry slowly and reverentially placed the bag containing his broomstick's remains into the hole. Fred and George then filled in the grave, as Ron continued to speak about the wonders of the Nimbus 2000. And quite a few other broomstick models as well. { _Oh, honestly!_ }

Hermione finally gave up and simply clamped a hand onto her mouth, to keep herself from screaming all over again. It was either that, or she'd punch Ron (and probably everyone else) for forcing her to witness all this! It didn't help that Fred, George, Alicia, Angelina and Katie were openly laughing at her – neither did it help that Oliver, Ron and Harry were still too engrossed in the so-called 'funeral' to notice!

"And so, as we lay Harry's broom to rest and return her to the earth from whence she came, let us pause and remember her life. Her accomplishments, her victories, the lost opportunities she would have had in the future..." Ron started to finish up his speech.

"Not to mention," Fred started.

"What a great ride she was!" George finished.

{ _That's it,_ } Hermione fumed silently. { _I'm going to_ _ **murder**_ _those two in their sleep later tonight, see if I don't!_ }

Oliver Wood, who had finally stopped weeping by this point, transfigured a nearby clod of earth into a gravestone. He then placed the gravestone at the head of the grave and said, "What would you like inscribed on the stone, Harry?"

"Errrr..."

It was pretty obvious her speckled, scrawny git of a best friend hadn't considered that, either before or during this sham of a funeral, and again Hermione wanted to growl in annoyance. { _Hurry up and say something, Harry, or I swear – I'll save Voldemort the trouble, and kill you myself! Slowly!_ }

"We'll do it!" Fred and George said together, and the boys used their wands to inscribe the following onto the gravestone:

HERE LIES HARRY POTTER'S NIMBUS 2000  
31-8-1991 – 6-11-1993  
THE BEST RIDE A TEENAGE BOY COULD EVER HAVE

{ _Forget killing them, that's too good for the twin terrors,_ } Hermione thought to herself vindictively, ignoring the amusement from most of the others. { _I'll write to their mother, that's what I'll do! Get Mrs. Weasley to send them a Howler or something. I_ _ **won't**_ _let this, this, this horrible fiasco go! I'll –_ }

Hermione abruptly noticed that the three Chasers had laid flowers upon the grave (that was enough to almost burst a blood vessel in her brain!) and then Ron said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Farewell, Nimby – you'll be missed!"

"Well, that's that. And bloody brilliant speech, Ron," Fred smiled and clapped his younger brother on the back.

"Splendid funeral, one of the best I've ever been to," George grinned and likewise gave his sibling a thumbs up.

"You've been to lots of funerals, then?" Harry asked, making Hermione want to growl at him all over again.

"Best one before this was for Uncle Bilius, few months back," Fred smiled at her wickedly.

"Before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party, he was," George reminisced fondly. "I remember one time, the man downed an entire bottle of firewhiskey – then he ran onto the dance floor, hoisted up his robes and started pulling bunches of flowers out of his –"

"Yes, your uncle sounds like a real charmer," Hermione hurriedly interrupted, not wanting to hear details. "Oh, Ron, could I speak with you – alone?"

Ron shrugged, as the Gryffindor Quidditch team closed ranks around Harry and they headed back towards the castle. "Yeah, alright. What is it?"

Hermione didn't waste time with words – she just drew her wand and starting chasing the ginger-haired boy in the direction of the Whomping Willow, firing stinging jinxes and pus-squirting hexes at him relentlessly, and ignoring Ron's desperate pleas for mercy.

Back at the broom's gravesite, a huge black dog – one that was horribly thin, and looked very much like a Grim – trotted up to the transfigured headstone, placed a paw on it and barked loudly, "Woof!"

It was the most beautiful funeral Sirius Orion Black, fugitive and animagus, had ever eavesdropped on. { _Hell of a send-off, that was; going to have to ask the Weasley boy to conduct my funeral as well, in case I snuff it before I catch that blasted rat!_ }

Elsewhere, Hermione finally lost sight of Ron – and so the bushy-haired genius thought to herself, { _I have_ _ **got**_ _to find some female friends, instead of my two current idiots. Maybe Ron's sister Ginny? No, wait, I've heard she's just as much of a Quidditch fanatic as her brothers, and Harry... oh, well, never mind. I'll find someone. Eventually. Even if it's the last thing I do!_ }

And, much to the detriment of Harry's godfather and the British wizarding world later that year, she did.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and sent feedback so far, it's much appreciated - and please, keep it coming! Oh, and this 'might have been' initially begins at the end of chapter 9 (p. 182) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.' So anything from there in this chapter doesn't belong to me, no way, no how!


	4. The Combination Of Elves And Polyjuice

**Chapter Four: The Combination Of Elves And Polyjuice**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

Hermione Granger stumbled around blindly for a moment, as the white light from the latest vision of 'what might have been' – thanks to the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – vanished from her eyes. "What the – no! I wouldn't have done that! That, that was just pure nonsense, you-you simply made all of that up!"

The image of Draco Malfoy from within the mirror just smirked at her. "Sorry, princess, but no. It might all have happened that way, if the Weasel had gotten the idea to give that broomstick a proper send-off!"

"But, but..." Hermione suddenly noticed that Ron was carefully backing away from her and Harry was lost in his own world, gazing at nothing in particular. "What's wrong with you two?"

"Sirius," Harry breathed, obviously relishing the vision he'd had just now of his dead godfather. "I mean, it was Snuffles, yeah – but we still saw him. We heard him! It was like he'd been given back to me – to us," the young man quickly corrected himself. "Just for a few moments, I know, but still. It was a chance for me to say... goodbye, I guess."

Hermione frowned – something about her friend's words bothered her. She wasn't sure what, exactly, but still – the intensity of Harry's tone made her uncomfortable, for some reason. Then she noticed Ron putting even more distance between them, and demanded, "Ronald, what are you doing?"

"You just hexed me, Hermione, what does it look like?" the ginger demanded, finally coming to a halt.

"Weasel's got a point, princess," Mirror Draco pointed out, that blasted smirk now even bigger than before. "Anyone ever tell you that when it comes to interpersonal relationships, you're nowhere near as knowledgeable as you think you are? Besides. If it had been a 'damaged beyond repair' Gutenberg First Edition, instead of Scarhead's broom? I'm pretty sure that along with a funeral, you'd have insisted upon setting up a mausoleum for it, with ever-burning votive lights and animated guardian figures..."

"I would not!" Hermione said shrilly, but with a hint of embarrassment that indicated to both boys that Mirror Draco's words probably weren't all too far from the truth. "Ugh. The memory of that whole thing will doubtless leave me scarred for life!"

"Oh, wait... I just remembered what you said, that bit at the end – Hermione tells me and Harry to get lost and finds new friends, which ends up being bad for Sirius and all the rest of us? How, exactly?" Ron wanted to know, staring at the Mirror intensely.

"Come on, Weasel. If the princess wasn't speaking to you and Scarhead anymore by the time that Scabbers was unmasked as Pettigrew, what do you _**think**_ would have happened?" Mirror Draco smiled evilly.

"Oh, no..." Hermione suddenly gasped, as Ron automatically came close to her again. "That whole terrible affair with Buckbeak's execution –"

"THWACK!" Mirror Draco interrupted, looking gleeful. "No last minute time-turner rescue for that hippogriff, according to most possibilities. Can you guess what else?"

"If Hermione wasn't there in the Shrieking Shack... and afterwards, when we exited out of the Whomping Willow..." Harry's eyes started to grow wide.

"That's right, Pot-head. Loopy the werewolf mauls you, Snape, the Weasel and Black, as you and the princess don't show up from the future in order to save yourselves. Then the Dementors swoop in and feast on all your souls, on account of there's no Prongs super-patronus to drive them off. The only survivor is Wormtail himself, who rushes off to find his master in Albania – even Lupin doesn't live after that fiasco, seeing as the Ministry executes him at dawn the very next day. That Macnair bloke, who'd have thought he'd have such a huge smile on his face – as he cuts off two heads in less than two days?" Mirror Draco laughed in genuine amusement.

"You. Are. Utterly. Despicable," Hermione hissed in distaste.

"That what you think, princess? And yet, it was just a few moments ago I was considered a magical miracle! You need to make up your mind, already," Mirror Draco smirked at her.

"Um, I have a question... it's rather ridiculous, I know, but – I'd still like to know the answer, anyway," Harry spoke up, looking directly at the image of the platinum-blond youth within the magical mirror.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Is there any possibility that the splinters of my broom could have ended up like something out of Fantasia?" Harry asked, looking thoughtful.

"Like what?" Ron asked in confusion.

"Fantasia, it's a decades-old muggle entertainment story," Hermione explained to him quickly. "Basically, the Sorcerer's apprentice enchants his master's broom to carry water to refill the indoor cistern in the Sorcerer's castle, instead of doing it himself by hand. When the apprentice couldn't get the broom to stop filling the cistern, he chopped it up into splinters. Then he took a nap, and all the splinters turned into brooms, and started carrying water inside all over again – until the castle was completely flooded!"

"Ha! That sounds pretty entertaining, yeah," Ron smirked, nodding his head enthusiastically; as it was one of the few muggle stories he'd heard that actually made sense to him. "But what's this got to do with Harry's – oh! You wanted to know if there's any possibility that the splinters could have become new brooms, and everyone on the Quidditch team could have gotten brand new Nimbus 2000s? Yeah, I'd be interested in knowing the answer to that myself!"

The Golden Trio was then treated to the _**unique**_ experience of the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities hesitating for two entire seconds. Mirror Draco then said reluctantly, "There's only one possibility in all the millions of possible outcomes where that happens. And all I'll say is that Viktor Krum's presence is necessary for something like that to happen, and leave it at that."

"Vicky? What did he do?" Ron immediately scowled in annoyance.

"Don't call him that!" Hermione instinctively whacked Ron on the arm for the insulting nickname, which caused the Weasley to yelp in pain.

"Oh, you want to see a different outcome in your fourth year where Krum is concerned, Weasel? No problem, glad to oblige," Mirror Draco said quickly – and before anyone could tell him not to, that blinding white light appeared to engulf the three teens all over again.

Now somewhat used to this sort of thing, Ron, Harry and Hermione saw and heard –

* * *

 **Close to the Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **May 27th, 1995**

Once Harry and Viktor Krum had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses' paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.

"I vant to know," he said, glowering, "vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny."

Harry, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, just stared up at Viktor in amazement.

"Nothing," he said at last. But Krum continued to glower at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated, "We're friends. That's all!"

"Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often," Krum replied, looking suspiciously at Harry.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "because we're _**friends**_."

To be honest, Harry couldn't quite believe he was actually having this conversation with the internationally famous Quidditch player and fellow Triwizard Tournament champion. It was as though the eighteen-year-old thought that he, Harry, was an equal – a real rival for Hermione's affections –

"You haff never... you haff not..." Krum said slowly, and somewhat warily.

"No," Harry replied, very firmly.

Krum stared at Harry for a few seconds, and then said, "Then if not you, who is the true object of Hermy-own-ninny's affections? There must be another... It cannot be the redhead who made her cry at the Yule Ball, can it?"

"Oh, you mean Ron? Er, well," Harry replied uneasily, suddenly feeling like he was on very treacherous ground. "I don't think – that is to say..."

But the next instant, something moved behind Krum in the trees – and Harry, who had some experience with the sorts of things that lurked in the nearby forest, instinctively grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him around.

"Vot is it?" the Bulgarian demanded.

Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he'd seen movement. He slipped his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand...

At that moment, a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn't recognize him – but then he realized it was Bartemius Crouch, one of the Tournament judges.

He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion. His neat hair and moustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing compared to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see.

"Vosn't he a judge?" Krum asked in confusion, staring at Mr. Crouch. "Isn't he vith your Ministry?"

Harry nodded, hesitating for a moment – but then he walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch, who did not look at him, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

"...and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve..."

"Mr. Crouch?" Harry asked cautiously.

"...and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen... do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will..."

Mr. Crouch's eyes were suddenly bulging out of their sockets. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.

"Who is this Vetherby person?" Krum wanted to know.

"Um, he means Ron's brother, Percy Weasley. He's Mr. Crouch's assistant, actually – he was there at the Quidditch Word Cup that night, same as the rest of us," Harry replied, recalling that night when Mr. Crouch had gone ahead and –

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. "Dobby!"

There was a loud _**crack**_! And then a tiny creature appeared, his enormous, green, tennis ball-shaped eyes brimming with eager happiness. He looked exactly as Harry remembered him from earlier in the year; the pencil-shaped nose, the bat-like ears, the long fingers and feet...

"Harry Potter, sir! How can Dobby be helping the great Harry Potter sir?" the manikin almost squealed in pleasure at being summoned this way.

Harry pointed at Mr. Crouch, who was still muttering to himself while down on his knees. "Can you go get Winky? Maybe she might know what's wrong with him..."

"Who or vot is this 'Vinky'?" Krum asked, keeping one eye on Crouch as Dobby nodded and disappeared with another explosive crack.

"Mr. Crouch's house elf. Well, she used to be," Harry shrugged slightly. "He dismissed her from his service, after the Word Cup –"

There was another loud crack, and Dobby reappeared – only this time, there was another house elf with him. The petite creature looked different to Dobby; for one thing, she was smaller, and her eyes were brown, and her nose was the exact shape and color as a tomato. Plus her tea towel/clothing was ragged and dirty, and quite smelly as well. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer in one hand –

"Oh _**no**_! My poor master!" Winky wailed in horror, dropping the bottle at once. "Poor Mr. Crouch is needing me, he is needing my help!"

"Right, so – best get him to the Hogwarts hospital wing, shouldn't we?" Harry mused, looking around at Krum as if to get the older boy's opinion on the subject. But Winky surprised him – she grabbed hold of the clearly-incoherent man, and with yet another loud cracking noise, they vanished from sight.

"What just-?" Harry yelped in surprise.

"House elves can be taking witches and wizards wherever they needs to go, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said helpfully, his ears waggling slightly. "Does the great Harry Potter wish to be taken to Winky and Mr. Crouch, sir?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry shrugged. He then said to Krum, "Well, uh, good talking to you, I guess –"

"You vill talk to me again, von't you? About this Veasley boy, and Hermy-own-ninny?" Krum asked, his glowering expression becoming a slight scowl.

"We'll talk again, sure," Harry promised vaguely, not wanting to make any firm assurances at this time. That whole issue of his two best friends acting the way they did was a... well, a complicated one. Sometimes when he thought back to that Yule Ball fiasco, Harry wondered if...

{ _No, surely not. That nasty affair of Ron accusing Hermione of fraternizing with the enemy, it was just because he wants_ _ **me**_ _to win the Triwizard Tournament, that's all,_ } Harry thought firmly to himself, before Dobby took his hand and they vanished with an obnoxiously loud noise.

The darkness was painful and somewhat disorienting, but it only lasted a moment or two before Harry recovered and took in the familiar sight of the school's hospital wing. What _**was**_ unusual, though, was the sight of the crying Winky and the muttering Mr. Crouch...

"Dobby, could you go tell Ron and Hermione that they need to come here? I'll find Madam Pomfrey, get her to help Mr. Crouch," Harry said, shaking his head to try to get rid of the dizziness.

"Dobby will do as the great Harry Potter sir wishes!" the house elf proclaimed eagerly, before disapparating.

"What in Merlin's name is all this confounded noise?" Poppy Pomfrey bustled into the room from her private office, before she spied Mr. Crouch on the floor alongside Winky and Harry standing not far away. "Potter? What are you doing here? And what happened to Mr. Crouch?"

"Errr, I-I found him like this, actually," Harry semi-stuttered, pointing to the wizard in question. "I was out on the grounds with Viktor Krum, and then -"

"Are you accusing that Durmstrang student of doing this to Mr. Crouch?" the school nurse interrupted, her eyes narrowing.

"NO! Krum and I found him like this, and then Winky – she used to be his house elf," Harry pointed at the tiny creature, who was still bawling in tears, "she brought him here, after I told her to do it."

"I see. Well, help me get him to a bed – elf! That's quite enough out of you!" Madam Pomfrey suddenly shouted at Winky, who immediately shut herself up. "Go and clean yourself up, you're filthy and you – are you drunk? Is that butterbeer I smell?" The school nurse then snapped, "Leave at once, elf, and don't return here until I say so!"

"But poor Mr. Crouch – my poor master, he is be needing me!" Winky protested.

"Apparently he's not your master anymore, and I am perfectly capable of treating my new patient without your so-called assistance. Now go – do you hear? Get out, and stay out of my infirmary!" Poppy ordered the house elf in no uncertain terms.

{ _That was a bit harsh,_ } Harry thought to himself in surprise, as Winky let out one last cry of grief and vanished with the usual explosion of noise. { _Then again, I suppose Madam Pomfrey does have a point; she's the school nurse, and it's not like we actually need Winky anymore..._ }

"Bartemius Crouch, what have you gotten yourself into? If I didn't know better, I'd swear you..." Poppy trailed off, immediately looking concerned as Mr. Crouch suddenly lunged forward. "What –"

"Dumbledore!" gasped Mr. Crouch. He seized a handful of Harry's robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry's head. "I need... see... Dumbledore..."

"All right," Harry nodded in confusion. "I can go get him."

"I've done... stupid... thing..." Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. "Must... tell... Dumbledore..."

"Right, I've heard enough. Potter, keep Mr. Crouch company – I'm off to get the strongest Calming Draught in my possession. I'll be back soon," Poppy said resolutely, marching quickly towards her private office.

Harry just stood there helplessly, as Mr. Crouch pulled him even closer and the older wizard finally managed to look into his eyes.

"Listen... to... me!" Mr. Crouch whispered, his eyes bulging again. "I... escaped... must warn... must tell... tell Dumbledore... my fault... all my fault... Bertha... dead... all my fault... my son... my fault... tell Dumbledore... Harry Potter... the Dark Lord... stronger... Harry Potter..."

Harry felt his blood almost turn to ice in his veins. { _Bertha Jorkins is dead?_ } he wondered to himself. Last he'd read was that she was only missing. { _And Voldemort's getting stronger? And it's all Mr. Crouch's fault? Why? How? I don't understand..._ }

"Bloody hell, Harry, what's going on?" Ron's voice cut through Harry's musings, as he turned his head to see his two best mates having arrived in the hospital wing. "Oi – is that Percy's boss, Mr. Crouch?"

"Yes, it is. I know that face anywhere," Hermione's voice was strident and thick with dislike, which didn't surprise Harry at all – he knew that the Granger girl had been outraged by Mr. Crouch's treatment of Winky, and how house elves everywhere were treated by wizardkind, at least in Britain. "Harry, what happened to him?"

"No idea," he replied, gently removing Mr. Crouch's hands from his school robes. The Department Head abruptly fell backwards into the bed, and started muttering something about how his son had gotten twelve O.W.L.s, and he needed to send a letter to the Andorran Minister of Magic, and other such drivel. Harry ignored that and said to Ron and Hermione, "Listen, could you two please stay here and keep an eye on him? I have to go fetch Dumbledore, as Mr. Crouch has been asking for him –"

"Sure thing, mate. You go get the Headmaster, then – we'll be right here," Ron interrupted, nodding his head.

"Yes, Harry, you go on – Ron and I will keep Mr. Crouch company," Hermione likewise nodded her head, although Harry could tell she wasn't happy about this.

"Alright, be back soon," Harry told his friends, and headed for the doors to the hospital wing. But then, and not entirely to his surprise, Ron and Hermione started bickering...

"Whatever's happened to him, you know, I think Mr. Crouch deserves it!" she said spitefully.

"Oh, come on, are you still upset over how he treated Winky? Please, Hermione, that was months ago!" Ron replied wearily.

"What does it matter when it occurred? And how can you condone slavery like this?!"

"Well, the house elves aren't complaining, are they? They _**like**_ being enslaved, horrible as that may sound to you!"

"OH! Ron Weasley, you are the most insensitive wart I've ever met!" Hermione screamed.

The doors closed behind him as Harry made his exit, and the male teen briefly wondered if those two would ever stop quarrelling like this. And just for a fleeting moment, he wondered what Krum would say, if he had been present to witness their conversation.

{ _Probably something like, "How dare you speak that vay to Hermy-own-ninny!" I suppose,_ } Harry thought to himself with a sigh, imagining how that three-way argument would go and almost cringing in horror. { _No doubt about it, poor old Ron would soon end up in the hospital bed right next to Mr. Crouch! And by his former idol, no less!_ }

Pushing such thoughts aside, Harry quickly made his way to the Headmaster's office. A few minutes later he was hurtling toward a stone gargoyle, standing halfway along an empty corridor.

"Sher-sherbet lemon!" he panted at it. That was the password to the hidden staircase that led to Dumbledore's office – or, at least, it had been two years ago. The password had evidently changed, for the stone gargoyle did not spring to life and jump aside, but rather kept still and glared at Harry malevolently.

"Move!" Harry shouted at it. "C'mon!"

But nothing at Hogwarts had ever moved just because he shouted at it; Harry knew that was pointless. He looked up and down the dark corridor. Perhaps Dumbledore was in the staff room? He started running as fast as he could toward the nearby staircase –

"POTTER!"

Harry skidded to a halt and looked around. Severus Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him, even as he beckoned Harry back toward him.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Snape demanded.

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" Harry said, running back up the corridor and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape. "It's Mr. Crouch... he's in the hospital wing –"

"What?" Snape interrupted, his black eyes glittering. "What are you talking about? What's happened to the man?"

"Viktor Krum and I came across Mr. Crouch near the Forbidden Forest, he was – he wasn't right in the head, I mean he was acting like he was completely out of his mind," Harry said rapidly. "He was asking to see Dumbledore, he mentioned that Bertha Jorkins was dead – that Voldemort was getting stronger -"

"DON'T SPEAK THAT NAME!" Snape interrupted thunderously, looking like he wanted to hex Harry right on the spot. He brought out his wand, and Harry reflexively took a step back –

The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes and a mildly curious expression, his eyes twinkling madly. "Is there a problem?" he asked, looking between Harry and Snape.

"Professor!" Harry said, sidestepping Snape before the Potions master could speak, "Mr. Crouch is here – he's in the infirmary, he wants to speak to you!"

Harry expected Dumbledore to ask questions, but to his relief, the old man did nothing of the sort.

"Come along, then," he said promptly, and Dumbledore swept off along the corridor behind Harry, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

"What exactly did Bartemius want to see me about, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, as they walked towards the marble staircase.

"I dunno, but he said he wanted to warn you... said he's done something terrible... he mentioned his son... and Bertha Jorkins... and, and Voldemort... something about Voldemort getting stronger..."

"This sounds most serious," Dumbledore said, looking concerned. "We'd best get to the hospital wing, then, as quickly as possible."

The headmaster of Hogwarts then started moving at a fast pace, taking such long strides that Harry had to virtually run to keep up; which quickly left him out of breath again, and in no shape to continue the conversation. Soon enough, they arrived outside the hospital wing, only to hear Ron and Hermione still screaming at one another –

"And another thing – what's this I hear about you and Krum meeting in the library, and hiding yourselves over in the stacks?!" Ron's voice yelled angrily.

"It's the only place we can go for a private conversation, without hordes of giggling, foolish fangirls following us! And for that matter, Ronald, why do you even care?" Hermione's voice shouted back.

"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed as he opened the hospital wing doors, and Harry saw both his friends (who were looking more than a little red-faced) turn to look at the old man in sudden fear. "Am I interrupting something?"

Harry's friends were saved from answering when Madam Pomfrey entered the ward, looking very cross. "Will you two kindly – oh, Albus, you've arrived! Good," the school nurse abruptly changed her demeanor. "You need to inform the Ministry that Barty Crouch is here, and that he's got to be transferred to St Mungo's at once. That man needs a mind healer, immediately!"

"What's wrong with him, Poppy?" Dumbledore frowned, examining Mr. Crouch carefully.

"I don't know. You'd almost think that he's been the long-term victim of the Imperius curse, the way he's acting," Poppy shook her head in disbelief. "Which sounds utterly ridiculous, I know. But I've seen these sorts of symptoms before, back during the war –"

"But I thought – doing that spell was a one-way ticket to Azkaban?" Harry interrupted, looking rather ill. "I mean, Professor Moody told us that, months ago!"

"Yes, quite right, Harry. And speaking of Alastor, he ought to be here for this. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, would you both be so kind as to go and fetch him?" Dumbledore asked in a distracted tone of voice.

"No need, Albus, I'm right here," Mad-Eye Moody's rough-sounding voice interjected, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stomped into the infirmary. The scarred man with the magical eye and a wooden leg was looking annoyed, as he clutched the Marauder's Map (which Harry had given him months ago) in his left hand. "What's going on, then? What's Crouch doing here?"

"That remains to be determined, Alastor," Dumbledore said vaguely, and Harry noticed that Moody had brought out his hip flask and was taking a sip from it – or he tried to, anyway. Apparently the flask was empty, and the professor angrily flung it aside.

"Professor Moody? What's wrong?" Hermione asked at once, looking concerned.

"Nothing, girlie, nothing at all. Mind yer own business," Moody growled at her.

"Alastor, that's no way to speak to a student," Madam Pomfrey frowned at him. "And Miss Granger has a point, you're looking pale –"

"I'm _**fine**_!" Mad-Eye insisted stubbornly, twisting around to look at her. In the process, he dropped the Marauder's Map – and Ron, who was the closest to the former Auror, bent down to pick it up.

"Oi! Give that here, boy, right now!" Moody reached out and grabbed the map from the surprised-looking ginger.

{ _What's going on?_ } Harry looked surprised as Ron grabbed Hermione and started to drag her backwards. { _Why is he-?_ }

"Who are you? You can't be Mr. Crouch – he's right over there in that bed! I don't – how can the map be wrong, and say that you're him?!" Ron started to babble. "'Cause the map's never wrong, it, it even identified Peter Pettigrew when he was hiding as Scabbers –"

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" Moody brought out his wand and stunned both Ron and Hermione, before Harry could even blink. The scarred DADA professor then grabbed Madam Pomfrey by the throat and put his wand to her temple. "Don't move, old man, or she dies instantly! Same goes for you, Potter!"

"It's all right, Poppy, he won't harm you. Young Bartemius knows that he'll never leave the school alive in that case – don't you, my boy?" Albus drawled, as the imposter slowly dragged his hostage over to the hospital doors.

{ _Young Bartemius?_ } Harry asked himself, before looking over at where Mr. Crouch was asleep in his hospital bed. Then a metaphorical light bulb lit up over his head. { _This must be Mr. Crouch's son! Bartemius Crouch_ _ **junior**_ _! That would explain why the map identified him as such – he must be using polyjuice or something – but in that case, where's the real Professor Moody?_ }

"I'm not your boy, old man! And I'm taking her with me, Dumbledore, so don't try anything stupid," the fake Moody hissed, as he continued to head towards the exit. "I'm – no, no, not yet! I'm not – arggh!"

Right before Harry's very eyes, the man's face began to change. The scars started disappearing, the skin becoming smooth; the mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair withdrew into the scalp and turned into the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place; the next moment, the magical eyeball popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it; it rolled away across the floor, and continued to swivel in every direction.

"Damn it!" Barty Crouch junior cursed, distracted by his recent transformation – before Madam Pomfrey hit him in the gut with her elbow, and managed to get loose.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry immediately cast the Disarming charm with his wand, causing the stick in Crouch's right hand to fly off and hit the nearby wall, before clattering to the floor.

"Damn you-!" Crouch junior cursed, looking like he was about to run for it.

"Stupefy!" Harry then cast a Stunner, sending the evil wizard to the floor, completely unconscious.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly. He looked rather proud of his young protégé, as he directed the Boy-Who-Lived to help Madam Pomfrey to pick up Ron and Hermione – and then put them into a couple of nearby beds.

"Shouldn't we wake them up?" Harry asked uncertainly, gesturing to his friends.

"In a minute," Dumbledore replied. The headmaster then looked at Crouch junior, and the smile quickly vanished from his face – instead, Harry could see cold fury in every line of Dumbledore's ancient face, could feel the magical power the old man was radiating like burning heat –

"INCARCEROUS!" Dumbledore shouted, his wand nowhere in sight – and thick, black ropes appeared that wrapped themselves around Crouch junior tightly, almost turning him into an Egyptian mummy. "There, that should hold him for a while. Harry, go find Professor Snape, and inform him that he is to bring some veritaserum here immediately. Poppy, contact Minerva and inform her that she needs to summon both Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones to the school at once. Quickly, now!"

As both Harry and Madam Pomfrey hurried to obey his orders, Dumbledore quickly woke up Barty Crouch senior and dived into his mind, using Legilimency.

That was how Albus learned by what means Crouch's son (someone who had supposedly died years ago) had been smuggled out of Azkaban; his dying mother taking his place, and then he saw how the boy had been kept prisoner for years and years, with Winky as his keeper and caretaker. Dumbledore also learned how Crouch junior had been liberated by Voldermort and Pettigrew months ago, and that the traitor also known as Wormtail had recently neglected his duty of keeping Crouch senior under control – Bartemius had escaped from the Crouch residence, and headed for Hogwarts to confess everything...

{ _It's unfortunate that you'll almost certainly end up in Azkaban for life yourself, Bartemius, after everything you've done – but I'll do what I can to save you,_ } Dumbledore thought to himself. { _After all, you may have managed to provide me with the perfect opportunity for Harry to get rid of Tom, assuming we can capture him and Mr. Pettigrew at your manor!_ }

As it turned out, it wasn't quite that simple – Voldemort wasn't a fool, and both he and Wormtail had vacated their base at Crouch Manor by the time the Aurors showed up there – but at least the aftermath of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament turned out very different, and Cedric Diggory never died in that Little Hangleton cemetery.

Which in turn, meant a very different fifth, sixth and seventh year for the Golden Trio...

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone sending in reviews, feedback and suggestions, as always! And this 'might have been' initially begins near the middle of chapter 28 (p. 552) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. Everything from therein doesn't belong to me and for the record, this chapter was actually inspired by Srikanth1808's story ' _When Harry Missed the Trick Step_ ', which is definitely worth a read! Anyway, I hope you keep reading and reviewing this story – please, tell me what you think, and how it could be improved!


	5. Somewhere Over The Rainbow

**Chapter Five: Somewhere Over The Rainbow**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

The blinding white light vanished yet again, and this time, Harry was the first to snap out of it. "Cedric..."

The memory of the Diggory boy who'd died because of an act of kindness over two years ago was still a very painful one for Harry. He hadn't known the Hufflepuff all that well, and he'd been jealous of him more than once – but he'd been close enough to Cedric to recognize that if he'd lived, Diggory could have become Head Boy the following year. After leaving school, he could have played Quidditch for England. Or been a brilliant Auror. He could have done anything, become anything, and contributed to the betterment of British wizarding society.

Instead, he'd been killed far too young – and Harry had yet to even visit his fellow Tournament champion's grave. Instead of a successful career, a wife and family – Cedric's only legacy was a grieving father, and the constant nightmares that had lasted for nearly a year in Harry's brain.

And even that was only due to the nightmares of Sirius's death taking over, inside Harry's damaged and battered psyche.

{ _If only it had all happened that way,_ } Harry thought longingly to himself, as he mentally went over the Mirror's latest vision of 'what could have been.' { _If only I'd thought to summon Winky that night – oh, damn it, why_ _ **didn't**_ _I? If I_ _ **could**_ _have thought of that, then I bloody well_ _ **should**_ _have!_ }

It seemed fairly obvious that Hermione and Ron had other things on their minds, though...

"Bloody hell. Harry, were Hermione and I really that bad, back then?" Ron asked ashamedly, sending the Granger girl a quick, embarrassed look – one that she returned, before quickly averting her eyes.

"Your arguments were usually a lot worse, actually," Harry answered absently, before her saw the stricken looks on his friends' faces and so he rushed to reassure them, "But still, that was a long time ago! We've all grown up since then –"

"Now that's a good one, Pot-head!" Mirror Draco chuckled. "You three, grown up? Don't make me laugh! The Gryffindor princess, she's the textbook example of a closet bigot against anyone who doesn't agree with her, ah, occasionally not-well-researched opinions. The Weasel, he's the personification of self-doubt and low self-esteem – and you, Scarhead? Wouldn't be surprised if some muggle psychiatrist diagnosed you with bipolar disorder or something like that, what with the way you have so much excessive guilt –"

"SHUT UP!" the Golden Trio all yelled at the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities angrily, cutting the magical artefact off.

"Truth hurts, does it?" Mirror Draco asked, chortling to himself. "And here I thought you'd want to know what happened after Crouch junior was unmasked that way. But if you don't want to, that's fine by me!"

"All right. We won't ask, then," Ron suddenly spoke up, glaring at his great-grandfather's creation.

"Now, hang on –" Harry started to protest.

"No, Harry, it's better not to ask. Trust me," Ron insisted, glaring at Mirror Draco. "Haven't you realized the pattern yet? Everything this thing has shown us, up until now – all the differences in our lives, big or small? It's all been selected to show us just how much _**worse**_ things could have been!"

"He's right," Hermione looked shocked, as she slowly started to nod her head. "Snape replacing Hagrid. Ron incapacitating Lockhart. Even that ridiculous funeral for Harry's broom –"

"Hey!" both Harry and Ron shouted in annoyance.

But Hermione kept right on going, "If we were to ask the Mirror about what happened after Crouch junior was caught early before the Third Task that way, it would just tell us some nightmarish horror story, wouldn't it – probably something along the lines of Voldemort eventually taking over the world after Pettigrew resurrects him with someone else's blood, and how we all eventually die very gruesome deaths – with the Death Eaters taking over the Ministry even earlier than they actually did. And so, I for one am _**not**_ interested!"

"Spoil my fun, princess," Mirror Draco grumbled, even though that tell-tale smirk was still there. "Still, it makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"What are you going on about now?" Ron demanded impatiently.

"How some possibilities make no sense, even to me," Mirror Draco shook his head, almost talking to himself as he monologued, "That fake Moody worked alongside a whole bunch of Hogwarts people for nearly a year, and yet none of them ever noticed _**anything**_? Even with Albus 'Mister Sneaky Legilimens' Dumbledore, and Severus 'Mister Vicious Legilimens' Snape, being around the fake Moody practically all the time? Voldy's plan obviously succeeded beyond all of the rules of immutable logic. In fact, it would have been much smarter for Snake-face to have put the real Moody under an Imperio and make him cooperate on the little things, like getting the Pot-head here through that stupid tournament..."

"So, what are you saying – that we should be grateful how You-Know-Who's arrogance caused him not to muck things up for us even worse than they are now? Sounds bloody fabulous," Ron replied, with a slight sneer.

"And you think your presence has helped, Weasel? Well, now – let's examine that theory, shall we?" Mirror Draco smirked yet again, and that blinding white light erupted out of the Mirror once more.

The three friends were caught spellbound for the fifth time, as they saw and heard –

* * *

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 31st, 1995**

The bedroom door banged open, late that morning. Hermione came tearing into the boys' room, her cheeks flushed and her bushy brown hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand as she said breathlessly, "Did you – did you get –?"

The overexcited brunette spotted the prefect's badge in Harry's hand, and let out a girlish shriek. "I knew it!" she then said excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

"No," Harry Potter said quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron Weasley's hand. The Boy-Who-Lived glanced at his best mate before saying, "It's Ron's, not mine."

"It – what?" Hermione demanded, looking confused.

"Ron's been chosen as prefect, not me," Harry said simply.

"RON?" Hermione asked in confusion, her jaw dropping. "But... are you sure? I mean –"

She quickly turned red at the implications of her rather thoughtless question, as Ron looked around at her with a defiant expression on his face.

"It's my name on the letter," he said shortly.

"Well, I..." Hermione trailed off, now looking thoroughly bewildered. "I... well... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really –"

"Unexpected," George Weasley said, nodding.

"No!" Hermione shook her head, blushing harder than ever. "No, it's not... Ron's done loads of... he's really..."

"If you'll excuse me, I think I need to use the loo," Ron said coldly, heading for the door and brushing past his mother, the one and only Molly Weasley – who was backing into the room, carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.

"Ginny said – Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Molly interrupted herself, almost spilling the laundry onto the floor. "Do watch where you're going!"

"Well, don't just stand there – go after him!" Harry hissed at Hermione, who looked flustered and confused.

"Harrikins is right, Hermione," Fred Weasley smirked at her. "You broke it, you fix it."

"What? Broke what? Fixed what?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking confused.

"Ickle Ronniekins has finally figured out he's a Weasley and decided to follow in his big brothers' footsteps, mum. Wouldn't be surprised if he brings a broken toilet to Hogwarts, after we suggested it to him," George lied with a big smile on his face.

"What? Oh! RONALD WEASLEY! DON'T YOU DARE!" the red-haired Weasley matriarch called out in annoyance, before Hermione snapped out of it and started to chase after the youngest son of the family.

"RON! Ron, stop! We, we need to discuss this," the brightest witch of her generation said whilst huffing and puffing, as she finally caught up with her target.

"Discuss what?" Ron said, turning around and looking at the teenage witch.

"Well, err... what I said in your room just now..." Hermione said uncertainly.

"Nothing to discuss," Ron told her brusquely. "You think it should have been Harry who was chosen as fifth year prefect, instead of me. Not like Fred and George don't agree with you; bloody hell, I'm pretty sure that deep down, even Harry himself was expecting it. None of you think I'm worthy of it –"

"NO! I never said..." Hermione trailed off, after seeing the skeptical look on Ron's face. He was trying so hard to hide it, but she had known him since they were eleven years old, and the young woman could tell she had hurt her friend badly by the lack of sincerity in her denial.

"You didn't have to _**say**_ anything," Ron replied emotionlessly. "It's almost funny, in a way – 'cause I don't really care what the twins think. They'll take the mickey, no matter what I do. And the confused look on Harry's face made me a bit uncomfortable, but I can live with that. Still, _**you**_ thinking that I don't deserve to be prefect? Makes me wonder whether we really are friends, or not..."

"We _**are**_ friends!" Hermione replied hotly, the embarrassment starting to change into anger. "Honestly, Ron, if we weren't friends, why would I have constantly helped you with your homework for the past four _**years**_?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking myself," the ginger admitted. "Maybe it's 'cause you wanted to be Harry's friend, and since I was his friend first, you decided it'd be best to keep me happy as well?"

"Oh, of all the-!" Hermione semi-spluttered angrily. "Well, if that's what you think, Ronald – then, then maybe we aren't really friends anymore!"

"Maybe we're not –"

"In fact, now that I come to think of it? Maybe the only reason you and I even _**talk**_ to one another, is because of our mutual friendship with Harry!" she screeched, losing control of her rather impressive temper. "If it wasn't for Harry... we never would have become friends in the first place!"

Hermione suddenly heard the words coming out of her mouth, and instantly wished she could take them back.

Except she couldn't.

How, _**how**_ did this boy always manage to infuriate her – to the point where she lost all self-control, and said things she didn't really mean? { _It's almost like what happened back during our third year at school, our fights over that stupid broom and everything else! Well, I ought to –_ }

"Do me a favor, Hermione. Well, two of them, actually. First one is give Harry this, I honestly don't want it anymore," Ron said bluntly, as he tossed her the envelope containing his prefect's badge. "I'll have a chat with McGonagall once we're back at Hogwarts, let her know what – and who – you'd rather prefer. And the second favor is – leave me alone for a while, yeah? Otherwise, I might do something I'll regret afterwards, since you don't seem to think we're friends any more than I do."

Hermione said nothing as the young man turned around, and left her behind. She was too busy trying not to let the tears pooling in her eyes gush out and down her cheeks, not to mention trying to fill the gaping hole in her heart, which Ron's words had created.

* * *

 **Elsewhere in the Black Family home**

 **A few minutes later**

Ron knew he had to calm down, but the violent, roiling emotions stirring within him because of Hermione's words refused to dissipate in any way, shape or form. They had fought before, of course, many times – too often for him to keep track of how many times they'd bickered, really – but still...

{ _What's that muggle saying Harry mentioned once, the final straw that broke the camel's back or something?_ } Ron thought muzzily to himself, still walking the dusty, musty corridors with no fixed destination in mind. { _Sounds a bit mental, of course, but also rather appropriate. Could be, this is the fight that finally destroys what me, Harry and Hermione have together..._ }

He didn't want to believe that, though. Not only would it put Harry in the horrid position of having to choose between his two best friends, which was completely unfair to him, but deep down – Ron didn't want to lose Hermione, either. They had been through so much together, ever since they were ickle firsties...

Ron eventually found himself climbing up the stairs and heading for the top floor of the house. He didn't know why – maybe it was because the only rooms up here were that of Sirius and his dead brother, the Death Eater whose name he couldn't remember right now –

{ _What the hell was that?_ } Ron then thought to himself, hearing a 'thump!' coming from Sirius's bedroom. { _Bloody heck, I hope he hasn't done something like – like bring Buckbeak up here! That hippogriff will shit all over his room, if it hasn't done so already!_ }

"Sirius?" Ron called out, after briefly knocking on the door and opening it slightly. "Are you all right in there?"

"Bad master is not present, young blood traitor whose presence defiles poor Mistress's house," the croaky, bullfrog-like voice of Kreacher echoed off the walls of the bedroom (which was decorated with Gryffindor colors and banners, as well as pictures of bikini-clad women and muggle motorbikes).

"Kreacher? What are you doing in here?" Ron demanded, reflexively drawing his wand.

"Kreacher serves House of Black. Must serve the traitorous flesh of Mistress's loins, who has filled the house with mudbloods and blood traitors," the hunchbacked elf muttered, as if he was talking to himself.

"Oi, that's enough outta you!" Ron snarled, instantly unable to stand the house elf's biased slurs against Hermione. "And some house elf _**you**_ are! Soon as we get back to school, I'm planning to tell the Hogwarts house elves all about you, y'know – and I'll bet you a galleon they'll wet themselves in horror, once I do! You'll become famous, Kreacher, and not in a good way! All the house elves everywhere will tell their sprogs, 'you's must always be working hard, and be's loyal to your master, or you's will be ending up like Kreacher!'" he mimicked the pidgin dialect of the house elves almost perfectly. "The Disloyal Elf Who Did Not Work!"

"Kreacher has heard nothing," the wizened manikin said evenly, even though Ron could tell his derogatory words had infuriated the elf. "And Kreacher hopes that the young blood traitor enjoys his upcoming voyage, so that there is one less abomination inhabiting poor Mistress's house. Can tak, can tah. Tak!"

With an obnoxiously loud _**crack**_!, Kreacher then disappeared from the room.

"Bloody decrepit wretch," Ron muttered to himself, making a mental note to ask Remus to ward his and Harry's bedroom tonight, just in case the house elf tried to smother him in his sleep or something. { _Why Sirius hasn't given Kreacher clothes yet, or even mounted his head on the wall like the other Black elves, I'll never understand. And probably just as well Hermione wasn't here to witness this – she might have come down on Kreacher's side, instead of mine! She... hullo, what's this?_ }

Ron saw a book on Sirius's bed, a large volume bound in faded black leather. There was no title on the front cover, but there was something... something about the book that drew him closer...

"Oh, no!" Ron yelled, as the black leather of the book started glowing and the title suddenly appeared – ' _Secrets of the Darkest Incantations_.' "Kreacher, you bloody bast –"

A man-sized thundercloud encapsulated him before he could get the last word out completely, and the subsequent sizzling arcs of electricity left angry burn marks in the bedroom – before the magical portal vanished from existence, taking Ronald Bilius Weasley with it.

* * *

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London (alternate universe)**

 **A few moments earlier**

Sirius Orion Black was not in a good mood. But then again, nowadays, he didn't have much reason to be.

He had spent over a decade in the nightmarish wizarding prison Azkaban for crimes he hadn't committed, and even though he'd escaped and caught the rat traitor and finally gotten his name cleared, Sirius didn't feel any sense of pride or accomplishment with regards to that.

Because he had _**failed**_ in his duty as godfather to the only son of Prongs and Lily.

Damn it, he'd been so focused on hunting Pettigrew down that night back in '81, he hadn't even protested when Hagrid had shown up at the ruins of the Godric's Hollow cottage to take the toddler to Dumbledore. Which of course had led to Harry being raised by Lily's sister, and her prejudiced oaf of a husband...

Ten years of abuse from the Dursley's, and four years after being sorted into Slytherin, had reportedly destroyed whatever compassion and morality Harry might have had completely. Moony (Merlin rest his soul) had told him that it was bloody awful seeing Harry acting the way he did, during the lad's third year...

He had seen it as well, unfortunately, that one time in Hogsmeade – when he was still hiding from the law as a dog. Harry had cursed an upper year Gryffindor that had done nothing worse than accidentally bump into him. If that had been all, Sirius could have overlooked it (maybe), but the look in Harry's eyes when he'd unleashed the dark magic... the Death Eaters he'd fought during the war, he'd seen that exact same look in _**their**_ eyes.

Hatred. Rage. A lust to kill...

Merlin help him, but his godson was a slimy Snake, in every sense of the word. And Sirius didn't doubt that somewhere on the other side of the Veil, James and Lily were cursing him nonstop for allowing that to happen.

{ _What do I do?_ } Sirius asked himself, pacing around his bedroom. { _How do I_ _ **fix**_ _this? For all I know, Harry may already be a Death Eater, if Dumbledore's right about You-Know-Who having resurrected himself a few months ago! It'd be Voldemort's greatest possible revenge on Harry's parents, to mark the son they died for as one of his own. What am I –_ }

A howling wind suddenly erupted out of nowhere, and blackish-grey whirlwind manifested itself; before a male human body with red hair was dumped into his bedroom and both the wind and the twister vanished. A boy, from the look of it, and the teenager was in pretty bad shape – cuts and lacerations and maybe even broken bones –

"St Mungo's!" the scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black shouted, after he grabbed some floo powder and threw it into the nearby fireplace. After summoning help, Sirius then used his wand to try to heal some of the lad's worst injuries.

The Healers later congratulated him on saving the boy's life, although after Ronald woke up, Sirius almost wished he hadn't –

Because Ronald Bilius Weasley, sixth son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, had been murdered elsewhere less than 24 hours previously – not far from Ottery St Catchpole, according to Mundungus Fletcher.

* * *

 **Fifth Year Boys' Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **May 4th, 1996**

Harry James Potter was honestly beginning to regret ever returning to Hogwarts this year.

So much had happened since last summer, and most of it had been bloody awful. For example, Ron had disappeared just before the school year had started, and no one had ever found out what had happened to him. But that wasn't the worst of it, oh no –

{ _Dolores effing Umbridge._ } Harry hadn't thought it was possible to hate anyone worse than he'd hated Severus Snape, but somehow, the pink-clad toad had overtaken the spy's place on the list of people he utterly loathed. That evil hag had initially been installed as the DADA professor, and then later, Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Headmistress at the behest of the Ministry of Magic after disbanding the school's Board of Governors. The latter because Dumbledore had recently been driven away from the school, taking the blame for the illegal D.A. (as Umbridge defined it) and leaving Harry and Hermione and the others free to keep going with their O.W.L.s year.

Speaking of his female friend, Hermione wasn't doing so well these days, either.

She'd taken Ron's disappearance _**hard**_. Apparently, they'd had some sort of nasty quarrel after she'd chased after him, and Harry didn't doubt Hermione blamed herself for what had happened afterwards.

Well, whatever the reasons why Ron had vanished out of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place that day, Hermione had clung to him so tightly after school began that Harry had almost felt like she was _**smothering**_ him. He also knew that everyone in their year (and probably a lot of the other students, including Cho Chang, who'd told him that it just wouldn't work out between them) believed that he and the bushy-haired witch were together _**that**_ way. But it wasn't true.

Oh, given how Hermione had physically blossomed this year – her curves becoming a lot more noticeable, and she herself a lot more fanciable – Harry had occasionally wondered whether he should simply ask her out on a date, and see if it actually led anywhere. But every time the thought occurred to him, he rejected it.

Because Hermione had never once given him any sort of encouragement, any sort of _**hint**_ that she wanted to date him. No shy and/or longing looks, no subtle suggestion of a romantic trip to Hogsmeade, nothing. And while Harry knew he wasn't the most observant bloke in the Wizarding World, he could nonetheless tell that Hermione's only priority these days was getting Outstandings on all her subjects...

Well, that – and occasionally wanting to hex Ron's bollocks off, for not being here at school with the two of them.

{ _Wonder if my best mate has any Seer blood in him?_ } Harry thought to himself, absently rubbing his hand where the phrase "I must not tell lies" had been sliced into his flesh – thanks to that Blood Quill Umbridge favored for her 'detentions'. { _Maybe if he sensed what was coming, somehow, Ron simply did a runner to avoid it all. Can't blame him for it if he did, bloody hell – Umbitch has turned this school into a prison! After the term's over and summer hols finally arrive, reckon I might just do the same – leave Hogwarts behind, move in with Sirius, and help get him cleared of those bloody murder charges. Ask if I can be home-schooled by Remus, maybe..._ }

"You're thinking about _**him**_ again, aren't you?"

Feeling somewhat surprised, Harry turned to face Hermione, who was staring at him from the entrance to the dorm. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Why else would I be here? Harry James Potter, do I _**really**_ have to nag you to stop thinking about where Ron might be right now, and concentrate on passing your O.W.L.s?" Hermione demanded bitingly, as she walked into the room.

{ _Oh, yeah, there's_ _ **another**_ _reason why I miss my best mate so much. At least when Ron was around, he was able to distract a certain someone about the whole homework thing!_ } Harry knew better than to say that out loud, of course, but it was true – Hermione had practically gone mental without the missing member of their trio to balance out her semi-manic tendencies, with regard to academics.

"I wasn't thinking about Ron, exactly –" Harry started to say.

"Then what were you thinking about? Those rumors that you and I are shagging like newlyweds?" Hermione demanded, her eyes starting to become shiny.

"WHAT?" Harry immediately leapt off his bed, and started at the Granger girl in disbelief.

"Neville just told me; he couldn't believe I hadn't heard it yet," Hermione confessed, as two tears started to fall down her cheeks. "It's quite the gossip, apparently; and did you know people are saying that we've constantly been frequenting the school's broom closets during our prefect patrols? Neville even mentioned there's a betting pool on when exactly you'll ask my father for my hand in marriage, or when I'll end up pregnant, or, or –"

Without any further warning, Hermione burst into hot, scalding tears as Harry quickly gave her a comforting hug. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, Harry! This year has been just utterly _**horrid**_! Not just because of Umbridge and her evil plots, but you know as well as I do how Voldemort has been gathering his forces and started making people disappear, killing them without mercy! Some nights I can't help wondering, is that what happened to him? Did some Death Eater or other manage to get into the Black manor and kidnap Ron that day, or simply kill him?"

"NO! Don't think that!" Harry told her at once, letting go of the distraught girl and taking a few steps back. "Hermione, Ron _**isn't**_ dead! We may not know what actually happened to him yet, but wherever he is right now, I'm sure he misses us as much as –"

Harry broke off, as a loud whine filled the air. "What's going on? What is that?" he demanded loudly.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Hermione yelled back, covering her ears at the same time he did.

The next moment the awful sound faded, but the air nearby began to get visibly disturbed. Instinctively, Harry stepped in front of his best friend and raised his wand, but to his surprise, Hermione shoved him aside and raised her own wand. He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it at the sight of Hermione's glare.

'Don't try to protect me like some stupid, old-fashioned muggle.' The message was perfectly clear, for all that the witch hadn't bothered to verbalize it.

The disturbed air had now formed a cloudy rectangle of sorts, roughly the height of an adult human male and twice again across. Then a longed-for, still-familiar male voice came out of it, saying, "Did it work? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

"RON?! Oh Merlin! Is that you?!" Hermione instantly screamed, a look of shock and disbelief appearing on her face; before it was a replaced with one of happiness and joy. An expression Harry hadn't seen on his friend's face since the previous summer.

"Hermione? Bloody hell, it worked! Is Harry there?" Ron's voice sounded just as joyous as Hermione's.

"Yeah, mate, I'm here," Harry replied, feeling better than he had for months. "Listen, Ron – where are you? Are you kidnapped? Tell us where you are, we'll come rescue you!"

"Hang on, Harry, I'll explain everything in a minute. Can you and Hermione see me?" Ron's voice now had an impatient tone.

"No, there's just –" Hermione gestured to the cloudy air, but before she could complete her sentence, it morphed into something like the two-way communication mirror Sirius had given him. And at long last, Ron's smiling face was visible. "Oh! There you are! Yes, we can see you now. Oh, goodness, Ron – you look so different!"

It was true enough, Harry had to admit. Ron looked a lot taller now, and his hair was longer, too. Harry couldn't deny it – all that his friend needed to do was to style his hair into a ponytail, get his ear pierced with a dragon fang, and put on a leather jacket – and he'd be another Bill Weasley! Beating off all the girls that swarmed towards him with a stick, just like his big brother –

"She's right, mate, you do," Harry added, trying to ignore the slight twinge of jealousy that had started niggling in his brain. This was a happy occasion, after all – the prodigal Weasley son had at last returned home! Or close enough, for the moment. "Still, never mind that now. Where have you been all this time? And when are you coming home? Your family's been worried sick, you should know –"

"Are they all okay?" Ron interrupted, looking worried.

"Yes, everyone's fine. Still, you ought to hear Ginny carry on – one minute she's crying her eyes out over you, the next she's threatening to hit you with her bat-bogey hex if she ever lays eyes on you again! I don't know what to tell her, what have you –"

"Hold it, Harry!" Ron interrupted again, holding up a palm in a gesture for him to stop talking. "I'll explain, I really will. But first off, I need to introduce you to someone."

"Who?" Hermione demanded, as Harry watched Ron gesture to someone off-screen.

"That would be me," a very familiar-looking brunette appeared at Ron's side, with an equally familiar voice. "Hello."

Harry gasped, and so did Hermione, at seeing a _**second**_ Hermione Granger now standing next to Ron in the magical image in front of them. He quickly demanded, "Who the bloody buggering heck is _**that**_?"

"Err, yeah, best do the whole introductions bit. Harry, Hermione, I'd like you to meet Hermione Jean Granger. Or Mione, as I prefer to call her; helps me keep the two Hermione's straight inside my head," Ron shrugged.

"Ron Weasley, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" Hermione started shouting angrily. "And what do you mean, _**she's**_ Hermione Granger? _**I'm**_ Hermione Granger! Merlin, I don't know what you're trying to pull with this little stunt of yours, but I'm not going to –"

"Would you give it a rest for a moment?" Mione – the _**other**_ Hermione – interrupted tetchily. "Good grief, Ronald's already said that he'll explain everything – and this interdimensional portal won't last forever, you know! So will you kindly calm down and let him speak?"

"Interdimensional portal?" Hermione echoed dumbly, looking utterly gob-smacked. Harry couldn't blame her – he was fairly sure that his jaw had almost hit the ground, from what he'd just heard!

"Yeah, that's what happened to me that day, thanks to Kreacher. That traitorous little bastard –" Ron started to say.

"Language!" both Hermione's shrieked at the same time, confusing Harry for a moment at the stereo nature of his female friend's voice.

"Right, sorry. Bloody hell, that sounded weird," Ron shook his head. He then explained what had happened that day in Sirius's bedroom, the way Kreacher had used that Dark Arts book to banish him from the house and send him somewhere far, far away. To another Earth, where history had turned out quite differently.

"Different? How?" Harry demanded, unsure he actually believed what he was hearing.

"As best as I can tell, Potter, the differences began after you were Sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor back in our First Year," Mione replied acidly.

"WHAT?" both Hermione and Harry yelped.

"Yeah, mate. Sorry to have to tell you this, but the Harry Potter here? He's nothing but an evil monster. As a matter of fact, he's killed people – the Dursley's, for example, and even the Ron Weasley that used to be here... before I showed up," Ron said sadly.

"That's ridiculous! Harry would never kill anybody!" Hermione protested vigorously.

"Your Harry wouldn't, perhaps. And you have no idea just how lucky you are, do you, Granger? To have actually gotten a Harry Potter and a Ron Weasley that were somehow worth more than hippogriff dung, I mean," Mione replied, a bitter and acrimonious tone appearing in her voice.

"Ron? What's she talking about?" Harry demanded, as Hermione just gaped at her counterpart.

"I'm glad you asked, Potter. Did your Hermione ever tell you the last thing she said to Ronald here, the day he left your universe and arrived in mine?" Mione interrupted, before Ron could reply. "Apparently, she told him that without you, without Harry Potter, there was no way Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley would ever have become friends." The alien Hermione's eyes narrowed. "She was quite right, of course –"

"'Course she was. Hermione's bloody brilliant, everyone knows that," Ron interjected with a smile.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, Ronald – I'm living proof of that assertion," Mione went on, her expression becoming cold and somewhat pinched.

Harry honestly couldn't believe some of the words that came out of her mouth as Mione added, "In my first year at Hogwarts, Weasley and I ended up hating one another after the 'wingardium leviosa' incident, and I'm sure he _**loathed**_ the fact his brother Percy saved me from that troll in the bathroom. My second year, the only occasion Weasley ever spoke to me was when his sister Ginevra vanished, and he desperately wanted to know if I'd seen her in the girls' dorms. Third year, we almost ended up killing each other when Crookshanks constantly went after Scabbers, who was apparently the traitor Peter Pettigrew all along. And last year, of course, there was the Yule Ball debacle – Weasley ruined what should have been a wonderful, magical night for me. And don't ask what happened between him and Viktor, I _**don't**_ wish to discuss it!"

"You make Ron – err, the _**other**_ Ron – sound like some kind of evil fiend," Harry said quietly, looking and feeling shocked. { _Sodding hell, did I really make that much of a difference to my friends' lives?_ }

"As far as I'm concerned, the only difference between that Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy – the Malfoy in my world, anyway – was the color of their House ties," Mione replied. "Apart from how Weasley never called me a 'mudblood', I suppose."

"Well, uh, from what I've heard – the other me wasn't a fan of the whole pureblood supremacy thing, any more than I am," Ron added uncomfortably. "Him, Dean, Seamus and Neville were pretty close, actually – apparently, the Remus Lupin over here made the comparison to the original Marauders. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail."

"Apparently?" both Hermione and Harry asked in unison.

"Poor bloke's dead," Ron shrugged. "Never met him myself, Lupin was already six feet under by the time I showed up in this world; but I heard how he helped Sirius take Pettigrew prisoner and clear his best mate's name, way back when."

Harry froze. { _The Sirius over there is a free man? And he has to deal with an evil version of me? Oh, my Sirius is_ _ **never**_ _gonna believe this..._ }

"But how could that have happened? I mean, after Professor Lupin forgot to take his wolfsbane that night..." Hermione trailed off.

"It didn't happen that way here," Mione informed her briskly. "Crookshanks and Black chose another night to go after Weasley's rat, one where Lupin didn't fall victim to his lycanthropic curse. I'm told it was quite a close-run thing, Black almost killed Pettigrew within the Shrieking Shack – but Professor Lupin found them in time and convinced his friend to summon Dumbledore, who in turn summoned the head of the DMLE, and from there the truth finally came out."

"So, that Pettigrew is in Azkaban now?" Harry smiled.

"He was," Ron sighed, causing the smile to instantly vanish. "But You-Know-Who liberated him and all the other Death Eaters there, after the Dementors turned traitor and joined the enemy. Fed on the prison warden and all the Ministry's guards, they did, and then they headed over to the mainland... and that's not even the worst of it..."

"Ron? What do you mean?"

"Been a lot of deaths here recently, mate," Ron abruptly looked more tired and much older than his sixteen years. "Even my dad – err, the Arthur Weasley of this world. He was bitten by some ruddy snake while he was on guard duty for the Order, down in the Department of Mysteries. They eventually found the body hours after he was attacked, and he looked... well, there was blood everywhere..."

Harry instantly felt sick. He knew what Ron was talking about – the same event had happened in both universes, Mr. Weasley had been attacked the same way here. Only, he had seen it happen in a dream, and he'd told Dumbledore and the others in time to save the wizard's life...

{ _The evil me over there wouldn't have done that, though, would he?_ } Harry asked himself in horror. { _Assuming he got the vision the same way I did, the evil Harry would have probably just_ _ **laughed**_ _as he watched Mr. Weasley die..._ }

"Ron? You'll be glad to know your father's fine, here," Hermione said gently, smiling at the relieved look in Ron's eyes. "And you'll be able to tell him how glad you are to see him, once you're back home where you belong. Oh, when will you be coming back to us, exactly?"

Both Ron and Mione just looked at one another, before turning back to face him and Hermione. "Uh, well..." the ginger started to say sadly.

"He isn't coming back, not yet anyway," Hermione's doppelganger said bluntly.

"WHAT?!" the instantly-enraged witch shouted. "What are you-? Ron Weasley, you come home RIGHT THIS INSTANT! Do you hear me? All these months, I've been hoping and praying that you were still alive, and now you don't want to –"

"It's not a matter of 'won't', it's a matter of 'can't'," Mione interrupted, looking annoyed. "That book of dark incantations which Black's house elf used all those months ago, it doesn't exist here. I know, I've looked everywhere!"

"What? Hang on, Kreacher? And, and book of dark incantations?" Harry asked, feeling bewildered.

"Yeah. I must have made that nutter _**really**_ mad, threatening to tell the Hogwarts house elves what a disgrace he was," Ron shook his head. "Let what happened to me be a lesson for you, mate; never piss off a crazy elf, and give it a chance to strike back at you."

"And all this time, we never even suspected that Kreacher – oh, that's it, I'm telling Sirius to cut off his head and flush it down the loo!" Hermione yelled, in a sudden frenzy of anger.

{ _This, from the founder of S.P.E.W.?_ } Harry asked himself in astonishment. Then he realized what Hermione _**wasn't**_ saying; namely, that Kreacher was to blame for losing the absent member of their triad, for making their fifth year at Hogwarts infinitely worse than it otherwise would have been. { _No wonder she's mad..._ }

"So, there's no hope, then? You're _**stuck**_ there?" Harry asked Ron, feeling despair settle around him like a shroud.

"It's hardly as bad as you're making it sound, Potter. Yes, interdimensional magic is dangerous and difficult to do, and there are a lot of unknowns – but I'm sure that once Voldemort is finally gotten rid of, I'll be able to solve the problem eventually," Mione replied testily.

"Why are you helping us?" Hermione suddenly demanded, staring at her otherworldly counterpart. "I mean, why did you assist our Ron to make contact with Harry and myself this way? Because I heard you admit it – you thought your Ron Weasley was scum, no different to Malfoy and his ilk. So why help ours?"

"First of all, Granger, I'm not the type to condemn someone just because their exact genetic duplicate was a complete arse," Mione glared back at her. "And second, over the past few months, Ronald has become a friend – and like yourself, I'm loyal to my friends. Of course, it took a while for him to convince me that he truly wasn't like Weasley –"

"It took me protecting Crookshanks against the Inquisitorial Squad, actually," Ron cut in, looking somewhat queasy. "Not to mention being tortured by Umbridge with that Blood Quill."

"She used that on you, too?" Harry blurted out without thinking, causing Hermione to turn and stare at him in shock.

"Yeah, so you've met your version of that toad, then? I swear, mate; it's like I've taken your place in this world, or something," Ron grumbled, causing Mione to roll her eyes at him. "Ended up in the hospital three times so far this year, if nothing else –"

"What? You got hurt? What happened?" Hermione instantly demanded, her face whitening in fear.

"Uh, doesn't matter, at least not anymore. M'fine now, see?" Ron held up his arms and slowly turned around in a circle, and again Harry suppressed that annoying spike of jealousy as Hermione watched their friend do so with suddenly hungry-looking eyes.

"So, what now?" Harry asked, forcing himself to focus. "When will you two contact us again, I mean."

"Err, not for a while..." Ron said vaguely, staring down at the floor.

"What? Why not?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, for starters, some of the spell ingredients are _**ridiculously**_ expensive – and it's only due to Black's generosity that I was able to get everything I needed, this time," Mione replied. "Not all of us happen to be swimming in galleons, you know."

"Plus, there's a war on, mate," Ron sighed, making eye contact with them again. "I dunno what's been happening over there for the past year or so, but here? You-Know-Who's been taking advantage of all his opportunities, since the Ministry's been refusing to admit he's back – and the Order is going to need every knut it can get, soon enough. It's going to come down to smuggling the muggleborns out of the country if – when – the Death Eaters take over the Ministry, I reckon. And that certainly won't be cheap!"

"Blast. The spell's going to end soon, I can tell," Hermione's doppelganger interjected. And sure enough, the image of the wizard and the witch from another world flickered for a moment. "That's why I suggest you all say your goodbyes, while you still have the opportunity." Without another word, Mione turned and stepped out of the field of view of the magical transmission.

"Well, ah, guess this is goodbye, then," Ron said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry –"

"We don't have time for apologies. Ron, _**I'm**_ sorry for what happened that day as well, but it's too late to change that now. Just – keep yourself safe, and alive, and come back to me as soon as you can, understood? However long it takes, I'll be waiting for you, so don't you _**dare**_ disappoint me again!" Hermione semi-shouted, before she turned and ran out of the dormitory.

The supernatural viewscreen flickered again, and Ron said hurriedly, "I won't. And Harry, you keep her safe, okay? And the rest of my family too, all right? I'm depending on you –"

"And I'm depending on _**you**_ to get back here as quick as you can, Ron. Hermione needs you, and so do I! So don't do anything stupid. You hear me? Avoid the evil me, and once Voldemort is history, get in touch so that we can figure out a way to bring you home!" Harry said urgently. { _Assuming Kreacher destroyed that book he used to do this whole universe-switching thing, which he almost certainly has!_ }

"I will. G'bye mate," Ron said simply, as the flickering grew worse. "Give my love to everyone."

"I will, Ron, so long –"

And then his best friend's image was gone, and Harry was all alone in the empty dormitory.

Perhaps it was all for the best that Harry had no idea just how long it would take, before the Golden Trio would ever meet again...

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone for continuing to send in reviews, feedback and suggestions! And this 'might have been' is initially based on chapter 9 of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', so anything from therein doesn't belong to me. Likewise, the banishment incantation is made up from The Language of The Dead in the Stephen King novel "The Regulators", and so that likewise does not belong to me. Oh, and this chapter was primarily inspired by the story " _Mirror, Mirror_ " by BlackHawk13 - it truly is a damned shame how that fanfic has been abandoned now, for lo these many years... Anyway, as always, I hope you keep reading and reviewing this story – please, tell me what you think, and how the story could be improved!


	6. Veritas Tales

**Chapter Six: Veritas Tales**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

As the blinding white light vanished and Ron could think clearly again, the first two things he felt – after witnessing the latest 'might have been,' thanks to the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – were hope and fear.

Fear, because one of his worst nightmares involved losing Harry and Hermione, one way or another. Whether that was because one or both of them died, or because they came to realize they fit together _**that way**_ and there was no place in their relationship for him anymore, or because of something else... it didn't matter. All he knew was that it was bloody terrifying, having to face losing the people you loved –

Speaking of losing people... it had been completely _**awful**_ hearing that in another world, his dad had been killed by You-Know-Who's snake. And that an evil version of Harry had probably laughed, instead of trying to save the man's life!

{ _Not to mention, I'd almost forgotten what Kreacher was like up until just a few days ago,_ } Ron thought to himself, as Harry and Hermione started to blink rapidly. { _Guess Hermione had a point when she said that eventually, wizards pay for how they treat house elves..._ }

And hope, because he now had proof that it was possible Hermione really _**did**_ like him that way – or that she might come to fancy him one day, under the right circumstances.

"That was – incredible," Hermione semi-whispered, looking stunned. "Evidence of other realities, where history turned out differently – oh, the possibilities are endless! Harry, Ron, I really think we should –"

"No, forget it. That book that Kreacher used, it doesn't exist anymore," Harry said uncomfortably, not meeting any of their eyes. "I remember seeing Moody destroy it that summer, along with a lot of other stuff that couldn't simply be binned. So we can't reach out to Mione's world for help, even if she wanted to help us – and since our Ron never went there, and never befriended her or that other Sirius, she almost certainly wouldn't. You two heard her – that Hermione Granger thought her Harry Potter and her Ron Weasley were useless piles of dung, and if that other me really is an evil killer? Guess I can't blame her..."

"Huh. Makes you wonder what's going on there right now, and how exactly Trelawney's prophecy will work out in that world – if those people will be able to get the evil Harry to do the job he's supposed to do, or else You-Know-Who simply kills him," Ron mused, before visibly shaking his head and dismissing the whole thing. "Well, I dunno about you two, but I'm hungry – I'm heading back to the kitchen, make myself something to eat –"

"Then you may as well take them with you, Weasel," Mirror Draco spoke up, as the Golden Trio turned to stare at him. "The princess and the Pot-head won't be able to use me to see anything without you present, remember?"

"Who says we even _**want**_ to see anything more?" Harry growled, and Ron could tell that the Mirror's latest display of 'what might have been' had upset his best mate a lot – not that Harry could be blamed for that, of course. "So far, you haven't exactly been much help, have you? Nothing but constant insults and name-calling, plus showing us more-or-less useless glimpses into the past. I'm beginning to think that your reputation is vastly overrated –"

"Funny, Scarhead, but I was just thinking the exact same thing about you," Mirror Draco interrupted, with his usual smirk. "Just as an example, the Harry Potter who would have gotten sorted into Hufflepuff or Slytherin would have been heaps more useful than you, right about now. Or the Pot-head who watched his best mate die. Or the one who helped unmask Crouch junior early. Even the Harry Potter who'd started thinking of shagging the princess, here –"

"Don't you _**dare**_ complete that sentence!" Hermione immediately shouted, her cheeks starting to flame up in embarrassment. "Harry said it himself, during that vision you showed us with him and Viktor near the Forbidden Forest – we're just friends! That's all!"

"Er, right," Harry hastily agreed, even though he kept his eyes averted from both of his friends when he said that. Something Ron didn't fail to notice –

"Well, come on, then," the ginger said slowly, starting to turn away from the Mirror. "Last one to the kitchen's a rotten egg –"

"Is that what you are, Weasel? And here I thought that was your brother, Percival," Mirror Draco suddenly taunted, the usual smirk reappearing on his face. "Especially after what happened when he and Rufus Scrimgeour came over the Burrow, last year. Broke your mother's heart all over again, didn't he, when she realized the only reason that pillock showed up was for his boss to be able to talk to the Pot-head? Though myself, I don't know why he would even want to bother..."

"Shut up. You don't talk to me about Percy," Ron hissed angrily, unable to help himself.

"Then how about I just _**show**_ you, instead?"

The Mirror blazed with white light, and yet again, the Golden Trio started to see and hear –

* * *

 **Outside Borgin and Burkes, Knockturn Alley**

 **August 3rd, 1996**

The bell over the shop's door tinkled loudly as Draco Malfoy (the real one) stalked out, looking very pleased with himself; which was pretty much his normal state of affairs. The platinum-blond youth passed so close to Harry, Ron, and Hermione (who were all hidden underneath Harry's invisibility cloak) that the trio felt the cloak flutter around their knees. Inside the shop, Mr. Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; and he definitely looked worried.

"What was that about?" Ron whispered, reeling in the Extendable Ears the Golden Trio had used to eavesdrop on Malfoy's conversation with the shady shopkeeper.

"Dunno," Harry replied, thinking hard. "Malfoy wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something in there... could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, the prat was behind that cabinet –" Ron started to say.

"You two stay here," Hermione abruptly whispered.

"What are you-?" Ron wanted to know, looking at his friend in concern.

But Hermione had already ducked out from under the cloak. She checked her hair in the reflection in the glass, but just as she was about to enter the shop, Ron came out from under the cloak as well and grabbed her by the elbow. "Blimey, Hermione, what do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm going to find out what the Ferret was up to in there, now let go of me!" Hermione hissed angrily, looking around to make sure they hadn't been spotted.

"Oh, yes, and how exactly are you going to do that?" Ron demanded, refusing to release her.

"Well, err... I'll just say, um, that... that Draco's a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he's already reserved anything, I obviously don't want to get him the same thing, so... um..." Hermione trailed off, looking unsure.

"You're a horrible liar," Ron said bluntly, apparently missing the looking of annoyance Hermione immediately sent in his direction. "And don't get me wrong, that's a good thing! But I've heard stuff 'bout that Borgin bloke, Mione – he's a nasty piece of work, and he'll see through your act immediately. I just don't want you to get hurt –"

"Let. Go. Of. Me!" Hermione forcefully tried to break loose of Ron's grip, and underneath the cloak Harry sighed at the way his best mates had decided to bicker like this _**now**_ of all times...

"What's going on here?"

Harry started in surprise; so distracted had he been by his two friends' antics that he honestly hadn't noticed the red-robed Auror approach. He instantly recognized the newcomer – the very short, wiry gray hair was a dead giveaway, as was Auror Dawlish's tough-looking face...

"Err, nothing!" Hermione gasped, as Ron _**finally**_ let go of her. "My friend and I were just having a bit of a, um, discussion..."

"Didn't look like it to me," Dawlish growled, coming closer and staring at Ron. "You're one of Arthur Weasley's sons, aren't you? Red hair, blue eyes like his and all..." He turned his attention to Hermione. "And so, that would most likely make you the mudblood that I heard follows Potter and Weasley around everywhere –"

"DON'T call Hermione that!" Roan roared immediately, looking like he was about to go for his wand – before the Granger girl grabbed _**his**_ elbow in order to stop him doing something foolish.

Dawlish looked unfazed by the emotional display. "Where's Harry Potter, then?" he asked, looking around. "If you two are here, he can't be far away. Disillusionment Charm, perhaps?" The Auror looked around before casting, "Homenum revelio!", the human-presence-revealing spell.

Harry froze, but nothing appeared to happen; the magic of his father's cloak protected him from the effects of the spell. He heaved a sigh of relief, and unfortunately, it was loud enough and Dawlish was close enough that the Auror heard it.

"Mr. Potter, I am ordering you to reveal yourself immediately," Dawlish snapped, looking annoyed. "Otherwise, I'll arrest your two friends at once."

"WHAT? You can't do that!" Hermione demanded indignantly. "I mean, what would you even charge us with? Ron and I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Loitering around Knockturn Alley is enough, these days," Dawlish replied coolly. "Last chance, Potter. Show yourself. Now!"

Harry made a split-second decision, and removed the cloak. He stood in front of the Auror and said simply, "Satisfied?"

For a moment, John Dawlish smirked at the three teens. "An invisibility cloak? Tsk, tsk, that's a Class D non-tradeable material – I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate it."

"You can't do that, that cloak's a family heirloom! You can't seize private property without just cause, that's illegal!" Hermione screeched angrily, her sense of justice offended by such a flagrant abuse of authority.

"Miss Granger, is it? Don't tell me what I can or can't do, I'm the one in charge here," Dawlish told her in annoyance.

"Are you?" Ron spoke up, looking the red-robed wizard directly in the eye. "Quite honestly, I'm a little surprised you'd want to risk your career this way..."

"What are you talking about, boy?" Dawlish sent Harry's best friend another annoyed look.

By that point, Harry had guessed where Ron was hinting at and so answered the question himself. "He's talking about the fact that I'm the so-called Chosen One," he spat out the description with something of a bad taste in his mouth, "and also how you tried to arrest both Dumbledore and Hagrid last year, thanks to Fudge and Umbridge. Now you want to arrest _**me**_? You really don't care about your job prospects this time tomorrow if Ron's dad has a word with the Head Auror about your conduct, do you?"

At last, Dawlish dropped the façade of smug pureblood superiority and an ugly, sullen look of dislike appeared on his face. "You three are coming with me to the Ministry right now, my superiors in the DMLE will sort this out."

"But my parents are waiting for us in Fred and George's joke shop –" Ron instinctively protested.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Dawlish interrupted impatiently. "Now hurry up, all of you – get moving."

* * *

 **The Ministry of Magic Atrium**

 **A short while later**

"Mum's gonna kill me for this, I swear," Ron whispered to his two friends, trying to avoid Dawlish's attention. "Two knuts says she completely blames me for everything!"

"You don't have two knuts," Hermione responded primly, "and besides, you're a prefect; you shouldn't be gambling, especially not before the start of our sixth year. I've told you before, Ron – you need to set an example for your peers, _**and**_ for the lower years!"

"You reckon I'll still be a prefect after this? I mean you're safe, Hermione, McGonagall loves you and wants you to be Head Girl next year! But me? She'll take the badge away and give it to Harry, I'm sure of it!" Ron complained.

"Oi, leave me out of –" Harry started to protest.

"Well, if you would simply make more of an effort academically, and stop wasting time thinking about nothing except chess and Quidditch," Hermione interrupted him acidly, "then maybe, Ronald, you needn't be so afraid of losing your lofty position!"

"Will you two belt up, already?" Dawlish interrupted the argument, just as Ron opened his mouth to fire back a stinging retort. "Because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's young'uns like you having a domestic in public!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron abruptly skidded to a halt, the tips of ears starting to turn red. All the others stopped walking as well, even Dawlish.

"Yes, Auror Dawlish, what exactly did you mean by that?" Hermione wanted to know, her cheeks starting to turn pink.

Dawlish frowned, turning to face Harry and the antagonism from earlier seemingly forgotten. "They're pulling my leg, aren't they?"

"Nope," Harry shook his head in sad resignation. "Completely clueless, the both of them."

"Harry, what are you talkin' about?" Ron demanded, his ears turning redder.

Ron's question was destined to remain unanswered, as at that moment – the Golden Trio's friend named Luna Lovegood and her father, Xenophilius, came over to the quartet. Luna seemed her normal self – that is to say, her long, straight, dirty-blond hair and large, misty silvery-gray eyes, plus utterly outlandish clothing (including a butterbeer cap necklace).

"Hullo, Harry! Hullo, Ron! Hullo, Hermione!" the female Ravenclaw greeted her school acquaintances enthusiastically.

"Luna? What are you doing here?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"Ah, she's here with me today, Mr. Potter. I'm Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Mr. Lovegood said rapidly, reaching for Harry's right hand and shaking it vigorously. "I say, any chance of a quick interview for _The_ _Quibbler_? Luna and I have a meeting to acquire an international portkey to visit the magical quarter of Uganda, yes, but there's still plenty of time –"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Lovegood," Dawlish cut in, looking uncomfortable. "Mr. Potter and his friends already have an appointment with the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Pius Thicknesse?" Luna queried, looking at Dawlish with those wide, inquisitive eyes. "He's not a good choice for Department Head, is he? I met him last year, and he had wrackspurts floating all around his head. Nastiest infestation I ever saw!"

"What?" Dawlish now looked confused. "Wrackspurts? What in Merlin's name-?"

"Well... they're invisible magical creatures, you know. They float in through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy, I'm afraid! In fact, I think I felt one zooming around just now," Xenophilius quickly looked around, before focusing his attention back on Harry's friends. Well, one of them anyway.

"Ah, Ronald Weasley! Haven't seen you in years, lad, you've grown a lot since the last time Pandora, Luna and I came over the hill and visited the Burrow!" Mr. Lovegood clapped Ron on the shoulder.

"Er, thank you, Mr. Lovegood. And, um, sorry about what happened to your wife. Luna's mum," Ron said apologetically.

Harry was about to express the same sentiment, but Luna abruptly leaned forward and peered at the Weasley intensely. "Ron, did you know you could have been born a heliopath?"

"Oh, no, dear girl – I hardly think young Ronald here would have ever become part of Fudge's private army," Mr. Lovegood shook his head at once.

{ _What? This again?_ } Hermione thought to herself, recalling the last time Luna had mentioned that particular imaginary creature. Oddly, this time around, it made her more wryly amused than angry; she must be building up a tolerance...

"And what's a heliopath, exactly?" Dawlish demanded, a bewildered look on his face.

"A spirit of fire which gallops and burns everything in its path," Luna replied serenely, examining Ron carefully and putting on her Spectrespecs. "Oh, yes, I can see it now. It's contained by both the Weasley and Prewett blood, along with the Black and Fawley blood from your other grandparents. Hrmm, but some phoenix and muggleborn blood would have set your inner heliopath free..."

"Sorry, Luna, but I don't have a clue what you're goin' on about," Ron shook his head.

"That's alright, Ron," Luna replied, before indulging in her knack for embarrassing honesty. "You'll figure it out one day. Just like you'll figure out your real feelings for Hermione."

Ron and Hermione started spluttering, Harry grinned, and Dawlish just rolled his eyes in annoyance, Merlin save him from teenagers – before curtly saying goodbye to the journalist and his daughter, and escorting the three teens towards the building's magical elevators. But as luck would have it, Rufus Scrimgeour and his aide – the one and only Percival Weasley – came out of one of the lifts at their normal brisk stride.

"Has Magical Maintenance fixed your office yet? You mentioned before that it was raining in there today," Scrimgeour asked his assistant as they walked.

"Not yet, Minister, I – Ron? What are you doing here?" Percy came to halt upon spying his brother, as did Scrimgeour. As did Dawlish and the Golden Trio.

"None of your business, really, is it, Perce?" Ron replied coldly, and Harry could tell his best mate was still upset with the black sheep of the Weasley family – for turning his back on them all, as well as refusing to believe Voldemort had returned at the end of their fourth year at Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter. I've been meaning to speak with you. And – John Dawlish, isn't it? What's going on, what are you doing here with Potter? And these other two?" Scrimgeour wanted to know, turning to stare at the Auror.

"Taking them to visit Pius Thicknesse, Minister. Or at least the Head Auror, Gawain Robards. Found these three in possession of a Class D non-tradeable item –" Dawlish started to say.

"What, augurey eggs? Niffler body parts?" Percy interrupted, looking concerned.

"No; Harry's invisibility cloak, the one that he inherited from his father. Tell me, Percival – what exactly is the Ministry's stance about a minor being in possession of a family heirloom, one which Auror Dawlish has proclaimed is illegal contraband?" Hermione asked waspishly, moving closer to Harry's side.

"Damn rubbish! Weasley, don't bother answering that. Dawlish, go report to Robards. Potter, you and your friends, come with me to my office – we need to talk. You too, Weasley," Scrimgeour ordered roughly, before turning around on his heel and heading back to the lift.

Looking somewhat bemused, the five people in question automatically obeyed the magical head of government and moved off in different directions.

* * *

 **The Minister's private office, Level 1, Ministry of Magic**

 **A short while later**

"Sit down, all three of you," Rufus ordered, the moment the Golden Trio and Percy entered the politician's office. "Weasley, over here beside me."

Like a good minion, Ron's brother came to the Minister's side and awaited his next orders. Scrimgeour ignored Percy though and focused on Harry, saying, "As I said before; we need to talk, boy. You need to tell me everything you know about You-Know-Who, and I _**do**_ mean everything!"

For a moment, Harry was hesitant. "I don't understand, sir," he said slowly. "Professor Dumbledore told me, the same night we met Professor Slughorn, that he had urgent matters to discuss with you. And I, I assumed that you two had gotten past that 'rift' I read about in the newspaper, a few weeks back –"

"Listen carefully, Potter; never assume anything. That's the first thing Alastor Moody taught all of us who applied to become Aurors during the last war, along with his mantra of 'constant vigilance.' To tell you the truth, I thought he was a complete nutter for it back then, but now? I realize that Moody was absolutely right," Rufus interrupted Harry brusquely. "And to answer your question, Dumbledore hasn't told me much of anything. I suspect the old man either loves keeping secrets to himself, or else he's worried about Death Eater spies. Might even be both. But my private office is completely secure, ran the checks myself; so now that it's just the five of us, I want to know –"

"You trust Percy? After the way he was so deeply involved with Fudge, not to mention Umbitch?" Ron interrupted, shooting a poisonous look towards his older brother – who simply avoided everyone's eyes, somehow finding the wall fascinating to look at.

"Ah, you mean Dolores Umbridge. Nasty witch, yes, can't stand her myself – but the woman's built her career by gathering dirty little secrets on a lot of important and influential people, so it would be political suicide for me to attempt to get rid of her. That's why I simply walled her off as much as I could," Scrimgeour replied. "And as for Weasley, I interrogated him personally with veritaserum before taking him on as my Special Assistant. That's how I know he's no Death Eater or blood supremacist, boy – and what's your name, anyway?" He took in how closely Ron and Hermione were sitting together. "You and your girlfriend, here?"

"I'm Ron Weasley – and, and Hermione's not my girlfriend!" Ron semi-stammered, furiously avoiding the bushy-haired girl's eyes (much to Harry's amusement).

"Hermione Granger, Minister," the official genius of Team Potter introduced herself, in a somewhat strangled tone of voice. "And Ron's not my boyfriend either!"

Just for a moment, Rufus seemed amused. Then he focused his attention back on Harry. "Well, Potter?"

"I, I think I should discuss this with Dumbledore before I say anything, sir," Harry replied cautiously. "I mean, some of what I know isn't my secret to tell..."

Scrimgeour straightened up, suddenly looking like a fearsome old lion with those grey streaks in his mane of tawny hair and bushy eyebrows. "I am the Minister of Magic," he said icily. " _ **I**_ decide what's to be kept secret, and what isn't. Now, are you going to cooperate – or do I need to get Thicknesse in here, to discuss that little matter of prosecuting you for illegal possession of an invisibility cloak?"

The threat hung heavy in the air, until Hermione cleared her throat and said politely, "Minister Scrimgeour, would you and Percy kindly step outside for a few moments, while I attempt to persuade Harry to act in a way that would actually further his best interests?"

Rufus saw how both boys were looking at the muggleborn in shock, and nodded towards Percy. "You have one minute."

Hermione waited until both men had left the office, and then she cast the Imperturbable Charm on the door for privacy. "Alright, listen –"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what do you think you're doing?!" Ron demanded, his temper on a short fuse. "Getting Harry to cooperate with those two tossers is just –"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, shut up and _**listen**_ to me!" Hermione interrupted, almost growling in anger. "We've got to make the best of the current situation, understand? And I'm not proposing that Harry tells the Minister everything; we can't tell him who's a member of the Order of the Phoenix, for example! That's why we need to... negotiate. I mean, the Minister can't send Harry to Azkaban for this, can he?"

"Maybe not, but he can bloody well get Harry expelled, can't he? If Scrimgeour decides to manipulate the school board, by threatening to withhold Hogwarts' funding," Ron interrupted this time. "And what exactly did you mean by 'negotiate'?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know the answer to that, too," Harry jumped into the conversation, hopefully before they started sniping again.

"Well, we can give the Minister at least part of what he wants, can't we?" Hermione suddenly seemed hesitant. "Harry, you can tell him what happened in that graveyard, and what happened in the Department of Mysteries a few months ago –"

"Hang on – does Scrimgeour know about the prophecy? And if he doesn't, should we tell him?" Ron interrupted.

"I don't know – there was that article about Trelawney's prophecy in the paper a while back, but I've no idea if the Minister knows the exact wording. And Dumbledore told me it'd be better to limit who else knows about it, besides you two," Harry replied. He saw Ron frown and asked, "What?"

"Uh, I'm just wondering – well, what's the point in keeping all that hidden, after everything that's happened?" Ron asked doubtfully. "I mean, You-Know-Who is still gonna try to kill you either way, Harry; whether or not he learns it's going to come down to either you or him, in the end. What real difference will it make, if that evil git somehow learns that he now has one more reason to use the Killing Curse on you?"

"Voldemort could abandon everything else – literally – and try his hardest to kill our friend, you thick-skulled moron!" Hermione yelled, looking infuriated.

"You mean while Harry's safe at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's personal protection?" Ron shot back, now looking really angry himself. "The one place You-Know-Who could never take over, even at the height of his power? I'm just saying, if we need to negotiate – your words, Hermione! – maybe that prophecy could be something worth trading, to make sure Scrimgeour doesn't ruin Harry's life?!"

Harry was saved from having to send both his friends to neutral corners by a loud knocking on the door. "Minute must be up," he muttered, as Hermione undid the privacy charm. { _Thank God..._ }

"What have you decided?" Scrimgeour wanted to know, as soon as he and Percy had re-entered the office.

"I'd like to ask a question, before we tell you anything," Hermione said, before either Ron or Harry could say a word. "All three of us are still underage, even though my seventeenth birthday is less than two months away. And according to wizarding law, aren't we supposed to have a parent or guardian present for this conversation?"

Rufus gestured to Percy, who cleared his throat and looked somewhat embarrassed as he said, "That's something of a, ah, rather gray area, actually. Yes, a parent or parental guardian should be present in any official questioning of a minor, but..."

"But?" Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Harry's an orphan, and he doesn't have an official magical guardian, as far as I know; the Dursleys certainly don't qualify, and since this isn't Hogwarts, neither do any of the school staff. And your parents are muggles, Hermione. They're not allowed into the Ministry of Magic, except under extraordinary circumstances or with the Minister's personal permission," Percy finished up, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

"WHAT? But – that's, that's blatant discrimination! How on earth can you possibly justify –" Hermione started to work her way up to a huge rant.

"What about me?" Ron interrupted, a wary look in his eyes as he studied Scrimgeour. "I mean, I'm not an orphan. And my dad works for you, Minister. So how's that, then?"

"Your brother Percival is of age, he's standing right here, and it's within my authority to grant him temporary power of in loco parentis," Rufus answered impatiently. "Now, enough delays. What's it going to be, Potter?"

"How do I know you'll keep your word, afterwards?" Harry asked cautiously, and somewhat mistrustfully. "Not give me a sham trial, I mean – like Fudge did, roughly a year ago?"

"You're the so-called Chosen One, Potter," Scrimgeour now looked more annoyed and impatient than ever. "I need you to support the Ministry, to reassure the witches and wizards of Magical Britain that we'll all get through this somehow. Hope is the one thing everybody lost in the last war, you know, can't give it up again – so I can't needlessly drag your name through the mud, can I! Again, in today's political climate – and the fact that everyone now knows He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back – that would be a disaster for me!"

"So, if I did answer your questions – how exactly do you plan to ensure I don't lie, or leave anything out? Veritaserum?" Harry asked, not entirely seriously.

"Of course," Rufus replied, much to the Golden Trio's shock as he went over his desk, pulled open a drawer, and brought out a vial of what looked like water. "Three drops of this, and I'll be willing to believe anything you tell me."

"But, but, it's _**illegal**_ to give someone who's underage that sort of truth serum! Even Snape says so!" Hermione shrieked indignantly.

"Only at Hogwarts," Percy corrected her, again not meeting anyone's eyes. "And before he left office, Cornelius Fudge passed legislation that the Minister of Magic has the authority to administer it to anyone he deems fit, actually."

"Blimey. Well, if any of us has got to do it, then – then it should be me," Ron spoke up, much to everyone's shock. "It's the best possible way for you, Minister."

"What?" Scrimgeour suddenly looked confused. "What are you talking about, Weasley?"

"Well, I was just thinking," Ron said slowly. "If the word should spread that you forced veritaserum down the throat of the Boy-Who-Lived, or the brightest witch of our age, your enemies could and would use that against you. Especially if their guardians or Dumbledore aren't here, to speak on their behalf. But me? You said it yourself, Minister – Percy's family, and I'm pretty sure you won't risk asking anything that could get you in trouble with my parents. We Weasleys may be considered blood traitors to the bigots and all, but we're still purebloods – and I reckon you wouldn't want anyone getting _**too**_ angry with you, right? You'll still have to deal with the voters' feelings during the next election, won't you?"

"Ron, _**no**_! I won't let you do this –" Harry immediately began to protest his friend's decision.

"Harry, think about it. Do you _**really**_ want to talk about what happened in Little Hangleton, back then? Or what happened to Sirius, a few months ago?" Ron demanded, effectively shutting Harry up. The ginger then turned to his other best friend, "And you, Hermione; do you really want Percy and Scrimgeour to learn all your secrets? Like what happened during our second year, with that polyjuice?"

"What?!" Percy demanded, his eyes growing wide. "Merlin... I heard the rumors about that Christmas, all those years ago, but – I mean, _**that's**_ why you ended up in the Hogwarts infirmary back then? A Potions accident?"

"I'm not interested in any of that," Scrimgeour cut off any reply that Hermione might have made, before focusing on Ron. "All right, Weasley, so be it. I assume you know just about everything that Potter does – so open your mouth, and let's do this."

Ron obediently opened up and allowed Percy to place three drops of veritaserum on to his tongue. Almost immediately, the ginger's eyes glazed over, which caused Hermione and Harry some worry and distress. Percy, too, though you couldn't tell from looking at his face...

"Ron? Are you all right?" Harry asked in concern, remembering the last time he'd seen someone under the thrall of the magical truth serum: Barty Crouch junior. Death Eater, impersonator of Mad-Eye Moody and psychotic murderer –

"Yes. I'm fine," Ron answered calmly.

"Right, let's start with some basic questions. What's your name?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"Birthday?"

"March first, 1980."

"How do you feel about me forcing you to take veritaserum in Potter's place?" was the next question out of Scrimgeour's mouth, which caused Harry's eyebrows to rise sharply.

"I think you're a sodding wanker for doing something like that," Ron replied emotionlessly.

"LANGUAGE!" Hermione immediately chastised, and Percy looked like he wanted to say the exact same thing; but didn't dare to do so.

"Shut up, Miss Granger, and don't interrupt again. Consider that a Ministerial order," Rufus scowled at the brown-eyed girl. Then he turned back to Ron and said, "How do you feel about your brother, Percival?"

"He's a complete and utter git," Ron replied, almost causing Hermione to suffer an apoplexy from keeping her mouth shut and forcing Percy to look away again.

"Why do you think that?" Rufus wanted to know.

"He broke mum and dad's hearts, for one thing, turning his back on them and the rest of the family," Ron said way too calmly, causing Percy to flinch. "Plus, Perce still hasn't apologized for his actions yet, or even admitted to Harry that he was wrong about denying that Voldemort had come back when he did."

{ _He actually said the name, and without flinching,_ } Harry thought to himself in amazement, as Rufus asked one or two more test questions. { _I guess Snape was actually right for once – three drops of that stuff, and even Voldemort himself would spill out his darkest secrets!_ }

"Very well, then, I'm convinced. Weasley, what do you know about You-Know-Who that could help me put an end to the threat he poses to our world?" Scrimgeour then asked.

"Voldemort isn't so much a threat as a symptom of the disease which wizarding Britain has been suffering for decades," Ron said almost robotically, again causing Harry to raise his eyebrows. "Therefore, I can't answer that question the way you want me to."

"Why not? No, never mind. And what do you mean by 'disease', boy?" Rufus then demanded.

"The bigotry all British witches and wizards possess, to some degree. Voldemort may be one of the two most powerful wizards in existence, but one man alone can't battle against an entire nation and win, no matter how powerful he is. That's why Tom Marvolo Riddle crafted the persona of Lord Voldemort, to appeal to the rich and powerful – and their prejudices. He did it pretty successfully, too, given he almost took over during the first war. And why he'll take over this time, if he isn't stopped by Harry."

Scrimgeour stared at Ron carefully, and then at Harry. The Minister opened his mouth to say something, but then he visibly changed his mind. Scrimgeour looked at Percy meaningfully and tapped twice on his desk. The older Weasley quickly brought out a roll of parchment and self-inking quill, and cast a spell with his wand to record Ron's words. Hermione looked like she wanted to object, but another glare from Scrimgeour quickly disabused her of that notion.

Then Rufus said, "If it were up to you, Weasley, how would you go about neutralizing the enemy before he takes over the country?"

"A three-pronged strategy, to be applied before Harry eventually finishes him off, somehow. Start with the Wizengamot first," Ron replied in that detached, emotionless voice. "Use stunners on everyone during the next session, and check them for the Dark Mark. You'll probably get a handful of Voldemort's agents, and most of them will be Lucius Malfoy's friends and allies. Interrogate them after putting them into a Ministry cell, not Azkaban –"

"Why not there, Ron?" Harry interrupted, unable to help himself despite the glare Rufus sent his way.

"Voldemort will easily liberate them; plus, the Dementors will have to return there, one day," Ron answered placidly. "Stands to reason, anyway; Voldemort can't offer them more than what the Ministry can, long term, in regards to their... food supply. Not without violating the Statute of Secrecy, and forcing the I.C.W. to send foreign hit-wizards here to stop it. Once Voldemort doesn't need those monsters to terrorize the muggle and wizarding population anymore, the Dementors should cease to be an issue."

"Keep going with that three-pronged strategy you mentioned before," the Minister demanded. "What next, after taking prisoners and learning what they know?"

"Freeze their Gringotts bank accounts, so that the family members can't withdraw their gold for the Death Eater cause," Ron replied. "Offer Ragnok, or whatever his name is, something to make him agreeable to that, via the Goblin Liaison Office. And lastly, interrogate everyone working at the Ministry with veritaserum, clean house and make it impossible for anyone with a Dark Mark to enter the building. You'll need a team of curse breakers and warding specialists for that, and it'll have to be done both in secret _**and**_ with people you can trust. Dumbledore might be a good source to find who you need there, I can't say for sure."

"The old man _**might**_ be an ally with regards to that? What does that mean, exactly?" Rufus demanded.

"Dumbledore's character. He either wants people to think he's gone completely barmy, or he's got some sort of mysterious master plan in mind to serve what he calls the 'greater good'. Either way, the Headmaster's cocked it up too many times now for me to completely trust him any longer," the male teen replied, a bit too candidly.

"RON!" Hermione squawked, looking scandalized and unable to keep silent anymore. "How can you say that?"

"The veritaserum is making me aware of truths I hadn't realized until right now," Ron replied tranquilly.

"Interesting, but what mistakes are these that explain why you now lack complete trust in the Headmaster of Hogwarts?" Rufus asked impatiently, and luckily ignoring Hermione's outburst.

"First year, Dumbledore let Voldemort into the school as a parasite on the back of Professor Quirrell's head, and Harry almost died. Second year, he let Voldemort's diary into the school and didn't realize a basilisk was terrorizing Hogwarts, until Ginny almost died. Third year, Dumbledore didn't do anything that really mattered about Sirius Black, until he got Hermione and Harry to save him from Snape and the Dementor's Kiss. Fourth year, he failed to realize Crouch junior had replaced Professor Moody – supposedly his best friend – and let that Death Eater play his part in bringing Voldemort back. Last year, Dumbledore failed to stop Umbridge torturing students left and right and he kept Harry ignorant of what was happening with his connection to Voldemort, until after Sirius was needlessly killed," the Weasley boy said relentlessly. "No one's perfect, I know, but as I said – too many blunders for me to blindly trust in Albus Dumbledore, not anymore."

"Anything else?" Scrimgeour asked, again tapping his fingers on the desk.

"Information is ammunition. Get _The Daily_ _Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_ to print the true story of Voldemort's origins, make sure everyone knows he's the halfblood son of a muggle as well as the Heir of Slytherin," Ron replied serenely. "Provide everyone the proof that'll splinter the enemy's pureblood support base, especially among the heirs currently at Hogwarts. Very few of them will want to fight and die for someone like Tom Riddle, given the prejudices I mentioned before, once they finally hear the truth... and actually believe it."

"Right, I've heard enough for now. Weasley – I mean, Percival – administer the antidote," Scrimgeour ordered, apparently not noticing Harry and Hermione staring at Ron with open-mouthed disbelief. "And find your brother some desk space in your office, until you've arranged for him to get one of his own."

"Wha- what?" Hermione gasped, as Percy gave Ron the potion antidote and the younger Weasley son started blinking rapidly.

Scrimgeour quickly looked at her. "Was I unclear in some way? In case you didn't realize it – we're at war, Miss Granger, and I need a competent strategist to give me ideas like the ones we all just heard. That's why Mr. Weasley – Ronald – has just gotten himself drafted to work for the Ministry, as one of my aides."

{ _Oh, Merlin! Ron's mum will either do her nut once she hears about this, or else she'll be pleased as punch that another one of her sons has gotten a job that she approves of,_ } Harry thought dazedly. { _I wonder which one it'll be?_ }

As it turned out, Molly Weasley's reaction to the news was _**far**_ less extreme than Hermione Granger's; someone who, as September first approached, continually expressed her anger that one of her two best friends wouldn't be attending Hogwarts with her any longer.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was primarily inspired by the story " _Veritas Oracle_ " by BajaB, and I just want to say thanks to him for it, and give it a read if you like magical truth serum stories! This 'might have been' initially begins near the end of chapter 6 (p. 126) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince' and so, nothing from therein belongs to me. Anyway, as always, thanks to everyone for their reviews and feedback, and I hope you keep reading and reviewing this story! From now on, things will get more... adult in nature, just giving you fair warning ahead of time...


	7. Glimpses Of The Future

**Chapter Seven: Glimpses Of The Future**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

When Ron came out of his vision of the latest 'what might have been', the first thought to pass through his mind was, { _Do I_ _ **really**_ _have to be dosed with truth serum in order to be able to come up with ideas like that?_ } He vaguely recalled Percy saying something once that veritaserum effectively turned off a person's emotions, and that allowed the witch or wizard to –

{ _Percy._ } Ron immediately felt greatly conflicted about his older brother. For two years now, Percival Ignatius Weasley had effectively been cast out of the family, and yet – he was still a sibling, and so Ron couldn't help missing that annoying prat. Well, sometimes. { _Maybe I can arrange to talk to Perce at some point? Maybe he can actually help Harry, Hermione and me, if he's not evil –_ }

Ron blinked, as he noticed Hermione rushing over towards him. "What-?"

WHAP!

"How _**dare**_ you say all those rotten, nasty things about Professor Dumbledore?!" the enraged witch practically screamed, after slapping his face.

"Hermione, calm down! Keep in mind that Ron didn't actually say all that stuff, that was just what could have –" Harry managed to drag the young woman backwards, as she tried to slap Ron again.

"I don't _**care**_! He still insulted the memory of the finest wizard who ever lived! Ron Weasley, I'm not speaking to you anymore!" Still practically spitting fire, Hermione turned around and stormed off in the general direction of the kitchen.

"I... I should avoid her until Hermione calms down, right?" Ron said sheepishly. "Probably wisest, anyway."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a little coldly. "Because after hearing all that? I need some time to calm down as well, truth be told."

"Hacked you off as well, did I? Not surprising, I suppose. Always seem to make things worse, don't I?" Ron shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, now sounding more surprised than annoyed.

"Come on, mate, think about it," Ron said musingly. "Other than McGonagall's chess set during our first year, what real help have I ever been to you? Honestly."

"You've helped lots of times –" Harry started to protest.

"Second year, I failed to notice what was wrong with Ginny, and you had to risk your own life in order to save hers," Ron cut him off. "Third year, Hermione stopped speaking to me for months because of how I reacted to that Firebolt and Scabbers – sorry, Pettigrew. Fourth year, I turned my back on you when you needed me the most, not to mention how I ruined the Yule Ball for a lot of people. Fifth year, that almighty cock-up in the Department of Mysteries – I was no help to anyone, both before and after I summoned that bloody brain and ended up with all those scars. Last year was the worst, though – I made Hermione cry for months after choosing Lavender instead of her, and then I nearly got myself killed with that poisoned mead! If it hadn't been for you giving me that bezoar –"

"Stop," Harry interrupted. "Honestly, Ron, you _**really**_ need to do something about your inferiority complex! I mean, have you already forgotten what that Mirror showed us just now?" The Chosen One gestured over towards Mirror Draco, who was silently smirking at them. "You could have become special assistant to the Minister of Magic himself, just like your brother Percy! You could have –"

"Could have what, Harry? Been forced to constantly drink veritaserum, in order to actually be useful to someone?" Ron interrupted scornfully. "Scrimgeour didn't really want _**me**_ , did he; he just wanted someone with my knowledge, and with my emotions switched off so that they wouldn't interfere with the job. And just how long would that job have lasted, anyway? Hermione was right to be angry about me sacrificing my education that way – because once the war was over, what reason would good old Rufus have had to keep someone on who'd only barely passed his O.W.L.s? Odds are I'd have been sacked and ended up the next Stan Shunpike on the Knight Bus, or maybe a dishwasher at the Hog's Head!"

"You _**always**_ have to look at things in the worst possible way, don't you?" Harry sighed in annoyance. "Honestly, Ron. Can't you just, I dunno, think positive for once?"

"Why should he, Scarhead?" Mirror Draco suddenly spoke up, injecting himself into the conversation as both boys turned to look at the Mirror. "After all, it's the people who are realists in this world that actually prosper, long-term. Most of them are heartless bastards, sure – but then, the history of the world is the triumph of the heartless over the mindless, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you'd think so," Ron growled, glancing at the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities in disgust. "Ugh. What else could happen?"

Before Harry could reply, there was a loud crashing noise from the direction of the kitchen. Ron winced, it sounded like Hermione was in a right foul temper!

"Be back in a minute or so," Harry said nervously, before turning around and quickly heading off.

"Almost thought those two would never leave," Mirror Draco said triumphantly, as soon as Harry vanished from view. "Now, I assume you're ready to put the act aside, and use me for what I was actually designed for?"

Ron was momentarily stunned. { _Act? What's this thing going on about now?_ } Deciding it would be better not to say anything, he just nodded silently.

"All right. How far ahead do you want to look and see what the most likely possibilities are?" Mirror Draco asked, suddenly all business. "And you should – wait, you _**do**_ know that nobody who's not of Weasley blood is allowed to learn that I can actually do that, right? No idea yet how much Master Frugoldus's son told you, after all, what with you having to play the part of a clown in front of those outsiders."

"Grand-dad Septimus told me enough," Ron said automatically, still trying to think straight and understand what was going on. { _Hang on, is this thing actually offering to let me look into the future? And here I failed Divination! Bloody hell, I need to – no, wait, I can't get the other two involved, can I? The Mirror will only do this for_ _ **me**_ _, of all people..._ }

"Well?" Mirror Draco said impatiently.

"Early January," Ron said abruptly, picking a date off the top of his head – something not too far away, yet not too close to the present time. "Show me the most likely possibility of what me, Harry and Hermione are doing, say, January the third?"

The Mirror of Infinite Possibilities didn't bother to reply – instead, that blazing white light engulfed him, and then Ron saw and heard –

* * *

 **Near the edge of the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire**

 **January 3** **rd** **, 1998**

He appeared out of nowhere in the darkness and gloom of the forest, clutching the Deluminator Dumbledore had bequeathed to him tightly. { _This time,_ } Ron thought to himself hopefully, { _maybe this time, I'll actually find them..._ }

It had been five weeks to the day since he'd last seen Harry and Hermione, which was his own fault, Ron admitted to himself shamefully. And all this time, he'd been getting three square meals a day staying with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage; but Merlin only knew what his best mates had been eating! Ron still remembered that argument after the poor excuse for dinner where Harry had screamed at him to get out of the wizarding tent they'd been forced to live in, after abandoning Number Twelve Grimmauld Place; to go home and pretend he'd gotten over the spattergroit, so that "Mummy'll be able to feed you up!"

{ _Shite, but I made a complete balls-up of things._ } It was tempting to blame Slytherin's locket for his decision to accept Harry's orders and leave, of course. And while it was true that he'd been more vulnerable to the Horcrux's mind-altering effects than both Harry and Hermione – Ron knew he had to shoulder most of the blame for walking out and disapparating that night.

Not to mention coping with the memory of Hermione screaming his name and begging him not to go, not to abandon her and Harry... that was like having to live with a knife embedded deep in his heart. If only he hadn't run into that pack of Snatchers, he'd have come back the very next minute –

Ron sighed. { _What's done is done, no point in thinking about the past anymore. Concentrate on the present and future – namely, finding your friends and seeing if they still want you around any longer!_ }

He started walking, looking for any sign of the wizarding tent in question. Ron wasn't all that hopeful that he'd find it – Hermione's protection spells were a lot better than his ability to detect and penetrate them – but maybe this time...

He walked for hours, and just when he was about to give up, kip under a tree and wait for morning, the young wizard saw something. A dark shadow, vaguely human-shaped, moving between the trees.

{ _Could be a trap,_ } Ron thought to himself, as he slowly moved off in that general direction. { _Or maybe it's them. Not sure if –_ }

But at that moment, the patronus showed itself.

It was beautiful – a silver doe. She was moon-bright and dazzling, making her way over the ground, completely silent and leaving no hoofprints in the fine powdering of snow.

{ _Harry! No, wait – his patronus is a stag, the antlers are missing,_ } Ron immediately dampened down his initial excitement. But then he thought to himself, { _Whose patronus is this, then? Hang on, maybe it_ _ **is**_ _Harry's – didn't Tonks's patronus change last year? And if hers did, why couldn't his?_ }

Deciding to follow the doe in the hope it would lead him to his friends, Ron slowly and carefully set off after the patronus, keeping an eye out for any potential ambush sites. Slowly, then, he followed it to a small, frozen pool of water, somewhere in the depths of forest – before the silver doe abruptly vanished.

Ron looked around, but no one else seemed to be present; neither friend nor enemy. Neither greeting nor Killing Curse awaited him here, it seemed.

{ _So, then, why?_ } Ron asked himself, as he looked around carefully and pointed his wand skyward. "Lumos!"

And that was when he saw it. The ice reflected his distorted shadow and the beam of wandlight, but deep below in the water itself, something else glinted. A great silver cross, or so it seemed...

"It can't be," Ron muttered to himself, dropping to his knees and trying to illuminate the bottom of the pool as much as possible. "Surely not..."

No, he was right the first time. The Sword of Gryffindor was lying at the bottom of the forest pool. Ron knew the weapon; he had seen it before in his memories – when the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities had shown what might have happened, at the end of his second year at Hogwarts. Those rubies were unmistakable, if nothing else.

{ _Still, who put it here?_ } he asked himself, looking around suspiciously. Ron hadn't forgotten that dark shadow he had spotted for a moment, before he'd started trailing after the doe patronus. Had that been an ally, or an enemy? Probably the latter, given the way his luck ran – but no, that didn't make any sense; why would an enemy hand over a weapon that could kill horcruxes, even indirectly like this?

"Bugger it," Ron muttered to himself, deciding that nothing ventured, nothing gained. He pointed his wand and chanted, "Accio Sword!"

Nothing happened.

{ _Should've known it wouldn't be that simple,_ } the youth thought to himself wearily, briefly recalling all the stories he'd heard about Godric Gryffindor. { _Bloke would've made sure no one could summon the sword away from him that way in battle, after all. Well, guess there's no help for it..._ }

Glancing around to make sure no one else was present, Ron quickly began to disrobe until he stood barefoot in the snow, wearing nothing but his underwear. Teeth chattering, he then pointed his wand at the ice, and cast the strongest Cutting charm he could: "Diffindo!"

It cracked apart instantly, chunks of ice floating away on the ruffled water. Grimacing, Ron quickly submerged himself into the pool, grabbed the Sword and then hauled himself out of the freezing water, shivering in agony. "GAAAH! Cold, cold, cold!" he cursed violently, before grabbing his wand and casting both drying and heating charms as quickly as he could.

{ _**Never**_ _doing that again,_ } Ron thought to himself firmly, as he quickly got dressed and moved away from the frozen pool of water, slinging his rucksack over one shoulder as he grasped his wand in one hand and the Sword in the other. { _Never again – not for all the food at Hogwarts!_ }

{ _Well, now what?_ } Ron asked himself, as he began to head back to where he'd started from. { _I've got the Sword, but I don't have the locket Horcrux – and I don't have Harry and Hermione, either. And how the bloody hell do I get through Hermione's enchantments, once I do find them?_ }

"Ron..."

{ _The Deluminator!_ } he thought excitedly, having just heard Hermione's voice come out of the device. The ginger quickly put his wand into one of the pockets of his robes, and brought it out. He clicked the Deluminator, and just like on Christmas morning, a ball of light appeared – pulsing and bluish.

The ball of light took off, and Ron quickly followed suit. Following the light through the forest, he tracked it to a circular-shaped hollow roughly seventy feet in diameter, which was blessedly free of trees – and then the ball of light abruptly extinguished itself.

{ _Must have run into Hermione's protective enchantments,_ } Ron thought to himself, slowing down at once. He came to the edge of the hollow, contemplating his next move. { _All right, let's try this..._ }

Ron retired the Deluminator, brought out his wand and apparated into roughly the middle of the hollow. Hopefully, he'd bypass the wards and wouldn't trigger an alarm –

Luck was apparently with him, for once; the wizarding tent appeared right in front of him, and the protections seemed to remain intact. He couldn't see or hear anything coming out of the tent, though, and so Ron cautiously made his way inside –

All rational thought instantly stopped dead.

Ron stood there in the dim blue illumination of the tent, the bluebell flames barely shimmering in a bowl on the floor, but – there was still enough light to see Harry and Hermione naked in Potter's bed, with Hermione's knickers and Harry's Y-fronts carelessly tossed onto the floor –

Standing there, Ron bore witness to every sigh, every moan, every gasp of pleasure from both of them as Harry buried himself deep within Hermione's innermost core –

Ron abruptly found himself standing outside the tent, even though he had no memory of turning around and ceasing to watch those two make love to one another. He didn't remember grabbing Slytherin's locket, either, but he must have done so – he was now holding it in his hand, after all...

{ _Harry and Hermione are shagging nowadays,_ } was the first coherent thought that went through Ron's confused and discomfited brain, as he made his way over to a nearby log and sat down, almost collapsing upon it. { _Well – that's rather unexpected, isn't it?_ }

The urge to laugh wildly like a madman suddenly hit him like a tidal wave. But after getting a better grip on his emotions, Ron slowly thought to himself, { _No, actually... it_ _ **isn't**_ _unexpected at all, is it? Let's face it, mate; deep down, you've been waiting for this to happen for a long time now. Ever since – when? Back at the start of sixth year, when Hermione said Harry had never been more fanciable? Or maybe even before that..._ }

A lone tear began to roll down his right cheek, before Ron angrily wiped it away. { _Get ahold of yourself, you berk – you always suspected that Hermione would choose him instead of you, didn't you? What was it that Dean Thomas once said, about like calling to like? You've always known that you're nothing special, just another Weasley son – while he's the effing Chosen One, and she's the most brilliant witch since Rowena Ravenclaw herself. So who_ _ **else**_ _would they choose, except each other?_ }

Slowly, Ron got the lead ball in his chest that was threatening to drown him under control. It could have taken a minute, or an hour – time had lost pretty much all meaning for him, by this point – but eventually, the ginger could think clearly and strategically again. And the first thought to cross his mind as the dawn arrived was –

{ _Get rid of the Horcrux._ }

Yes. That was the right thing to do. There was still a war on, regardless of what was happening here in the Forest of Dean – the locket definitely needed to be destroyed, and as soon as possible. And the other horcruxes as well, whatever and wherever they were.

Making his mind up, Ron slowly moved his rucksack to the side and placed the locket on top of the log, giving himself plenty of room and waiting until he'd gotten his emotions completely under control. He then raised the Sword of Gryffindor, and –

The locket rattled once, before the golden doors swung open with a soft 'click'. Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and human as Tom Riddle's eyes had once been – before they'd become scarlet and slit-pupiled, according to his best friend.

 _ **Former**_ best friend, now.

Then a high, cold voice hissed from out of the Horcrux, like a snake mimicking human speech.

"I have seen your heart, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and it is mine."

"Really?" Ron replied, lowering the sword slightly. "That's odd, I don't recall selling it to you. You probably tried to cheat me on the price, though, even if I did."

Voldemort's voice continued, although it now sounded less certain of itself. "I have seen all your worst fears come to life, little wizard. Betrayal, rejection... Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter... unloved, now, by the girl who prefers your former friend... second best, always, eternally overshadowed..."

"Tell me something I don't already know, mate. No, don't bother; this conversation is completely pointless," Ron said simply, as he began to swing the sword downwards.

"WAIT!" the voice said urgently, and then a head began to extend out of the glass surface of the locket before it was joined by a physical form. It was an older Tom Riddle than the Diary Horcrux; he was no longer a teenager, and Riddle's skin was much paler, and his eyes had a red tint that was rather disturbing; but for all that, he still looked human enough.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. Son of a muggle and a near-squib," Ron said facetiously, ignoring the evil scowl immediately sent in his direction.

"Ron Weasley. Son of a family of blood traitors," Riddle hissed, sounding more like a snake than ever. "You dare presume to kill me?"

"Got to be done. And it's not like you're the real You-Know-Who, you know," Ron shrugged casually. Deep down, he was amazed at how disrespectfully flippant he was being towards the British wizarding world's bogeyman – but then again, after seeing Harry and Hermione shag right in front of him? Ron suspected he probably wasn't all there in the head, right now. "So, was there a point to this, or are you just wasting my time?"

"I have seen and felt the _**treachery**_ of your so-called friends," Riddle said slowly, as an evil smile appeared on his lips. "We could come to an agreement, mutually beneficial to us both..."

"What, are you actually trying to convince me to return you back to your creator? Oh, sure, that'd work – right up until the point You-Know-Who kills me," Ron shook his head in disbelief. "Goodbye."

"WAIT!" Riddle shouted again, starting to look – not worried, exactly, but... concerned. "There is another piece of information I can offer in trade, if you were to spare me."

"Not interested, sorry."

"Not even in the location of another Horcrux?"

Pausing in mid-swing yet again, Ron narrowed his eyes. "Where?"

"It is – close by," Riddle abruptly smiled again, as if now sensing an advantage and considering how to leverage it successfully.

"Pull the other one, Riddle, it's got bells on. As if the real you would have buried a Horcrux somewhere in this forest," Ron semi-sneered, raising the Sword again.

"I didn't say that," the locket Horcrux said hurriedly. "Nonetheless there _**is**_ another Horcrux nearby, we can sense each other – indeed, I have been sensing its presence for months now. Swear on your life and magic not to destroy me, and I will relinquish that secret. How say you?"

For one timeless moment, wizard and Horcrux stared at one another –

The Sword flashed in the morning light, and plunged down; there was a clang of metal on metal, and then a loud, agonized scream as the locket died. Not to mention, there was a blaze of purple light as it exploded – and then all that was left was two shattered pieces of metal, that had once been Salazar Slytherin's golden locket.

{ _Well... guess that's done, then,_ } Ron thought to himself tiredly as he rested the tip of the Sword in the snow at his feet, holding the handle with both hands as he contemplated his next move. { _Now what? Maybe I should just leave, let those two enjoy their time together-?_ }

"RON?! You're back!" Harry's voice was both amazed and confused, as he came running out of the tent with nothing but his underwear on.

"So he is – wait, is that the Horcrux? Goodness, did he actually kill it?" Hermione's voice, initially full of disdain, was suddenly full of astonishment and disbelief as she came out of the tent as well, wearing nothing but a thin robe to guard her against the cold of the forest hollow.

Ron ignored her, though, focusing totally on Harry. The way he was rubbing his forehead, the lightning bolt scar to be precise.

Then Ron remembered what the locket Horcrux had just said –

{ _The location of another Horcrux. It is – close by._ }

{ _We can sense each other._ }

{ _Indeed, I have been sensing its presence for months now. }_

Ron's eyes widened in horror, as his brain made an intuitive leap and he abruptly figured out precisely what Harry Potter was, and who exactly the locket had been referring to. And the ginger was sure that the Horcrux hadn't been lying – it had been desperate, trying to survive after it couldn't attack him mentally anymore... and the locket had to have known that lies were useless at that point, that would just be delaying the inevitable...

"Ron? Why are you looking at me that way?" Harry asked in confusion, as the Sword slipped from Ron's grasp and fell to the snow-covered ground.

* * *

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

Ron blinked repeatedly, as the white light vanished and he came out of the latest vision the Mirror had provided. Unfortunately for him, his mind simply couldn't cope with everything he'd just seen and heard, as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly...

Abandoning Grimmauld Place. Abandoning his friends. Seeing Harry and Hermione making love, like there was no tomorrow...

Learning that Harry Potter – was a Horcrux?

{ _It can't be true,_ } Ron thought to himself desperately, focusing only on the Horcrux thing right now – because trying to think about all the rest of it would leave him a complete, gibbering mess. "No. NO! Harry can't be a Horcrux!"

"Don't be daft, of course Scarhead's a Horcrux – an unintentional one, yeah, but still," Mirror Draco said uncaringly, and Ron had never before wanted to smash that Mirror as much as he did at that moment. "Snake-face's soul was so fragile by then, a piece of it was ripped off thanks to the Killing Curse that night, and attached itself to the only living thing in that bedroom – Potter the rotter, himself. Why else did you think Dumbledore always protected the Pot-head, like a prize pig being raised for slaughter? The same brilliant, manipulative poof who always followed the ideals of the so-called Greater Good, ever since he met Gellert Grindelwald?"

"So You-Know... _**V-Voldemort's**_ already won?" Ron forced himself to finally say the word, despair completely covering him like a shroud. "I mean, if the prophecy's right and it all comes down to one of them killing the other, and Harry's a Horcrux who needs to die... then _**he**_ wins, right?"

"No, of course not," Mirror Draco frowned at him, as if surprised by his choice of words. "There are plenty of possibilities where Snake-face ultimately loses –"

"Then show me the one where our side – that is, the Order of the Phoenix – wins, with the least amount of life lost," Ron interrupted, hope quickly rekindling in his heart – even though the situation was such that even if the enemy lost the war, he himself had already lost everything that mattered to him now... apart from his family.

For the first time, Mirror Draco actually looked _**alarmed**_. "No, you don't understand; I mustn't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, I'll attract the attention of a certain – entity. And that thing will utterly destroy me, for going somewhere I shouldn't," Mirror Draco shook his head vehemently. "Likes its privacy, it does!"

"I don't care. _**Show me**_ ," Ron ordered the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities in no uncertain terms.

A number of expressions appeared to run across Mirror Draco's face – shock, then horror, and then finally hatred – before the blazing white light appeared, one last time.

Ron braced himself, as he saw and heard –

* * *

 **Not far from the Room of Requirement, seventh floor corridor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **May 2nd, 1998**

"Hello, Minister!" Percy bellowed, sending a neat jinx straight at Scrimgeour's successor, Pius Thicknesse – who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" Fred shouted, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. George's other half then saw how Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; the man seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin, bizarre as the comparison seemed to be right now.

Fred looked at Percy with glee. "You actually are joking, Perce... I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

They were all grouped together; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet – one stunned, the other transfigured – and at that moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay...

Ron's head snapped up and he dived on top of Fred, apparently ignoring his older brother's squawk of surprise.

The next moment the air exploded, the world was rent apart, and Harry felt himself flying through the air. All he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms. He heard the screams and yells of his companions, but at that moment, he had no idea what had happened to them –

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semi-darkness, and Harry found himself half-buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. { _Ow. What the bloody hell was that? Hang on, get your bearings first..._ }

Cold air caressing the back of his neck told Harry that the outer wall of this section of the castle had been blown apart, and the hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was also bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, a cry that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause. So he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that entire day – more frightened, perhaps, than he had ever been in his entire life...

Harry saw that Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and the three redheads were grouped on the ground where the wall had been blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and helped her up, as they started to stagger and stumble over stone and wood towards their comrades.

"No, no, no!" Percy started screaming. "No! Ron! No!"

Percy was desperately shaking his younger brother, and Fred was kneeling beside him, and at first Harry did not understand – but then he saw how Ron's eyes were staring upwards without seeing, a look of surprise etched upon his best mate's face.

"Don't you _**dare**_ do this, Ronnie!" Fred – usually so strong, witty and even a tiny bit cruel – yelled out, reduced now to a sobbing mess of denial. "If this is a fucked-up joke of some sort, I swear I'm going to-!"

Hermione suddenly erupted into incoherent screams, before grabbing the cold dead head of the ginger on the floor and begging Ron to snap out of it. Harry had never before witnessed such an emotional display on Hermione's part as she wailed, "RON! NOOOO!"

Another loud _**boom**_! pierced the air before Harry snapped out of it. "Fred, Percy, Hermione... we've got to go, we can't stay here. We can't do anything for Ron, at least not right now –"

"NO! We're not leaving him!" Percy yelled, and Harry was willing to bet Ron's brother had gone somewhat mental, from the semi-deranged look in Percy's eyes. "Ronnie, oh Merlin, Ronnie, please-!"

"Arania exumai!" Harry shouted, sending the spider-repelling spell at an acromantula – one which was starting to climb in through the newly-created hole in the castle's defenses.

"MOVE, NOW!" Harry subsequently yelled, shoving Hermione out of the way as he dragged Ron's body away by the armpits, away from the rubble and the bodies of the two forgotten Death Eaters they'd been fighting. Fred and Percy started casting spells at the other giant spiders that had followed in the footsteps of the first one, before retreating to the nearby alcove where Harry had moved Ron's corpse. Fred grabbed Hermione by the arm and dragged her along with him, the brightest witch of her generation unable to put up any form of struggle while Percy brought up the rear...

Harry didn't know what to say, what to _**do**_ as Hermione threw herself on the body and started to viciously curse Ron for leaving her like this, thumping away at the dead man's chest with cries of "How could you?!" and "You bloody _**idiot**_!" and the like. Fred and Percy didn't look like they knew what to say or do either, before glancing at one another – and then, with the look of an enraged berserker, the two brothers began seeking a viable target to vent their feelings of anger and helplessness upon.

It only took a few brief seconds for them to locate one...

"ROOKWOOD!" Percy roared in his rage and grief, running off in the direction of the Death Eater in question, Fred following him not a moment later.

"NO! Damn it, Percy, Fred – come back!" Harry shouted after them, but of course, the two Weasleys ignored him completely.

The Chosen One then found himself distracted by Hermione hurling herself into his arms, still crying and babbling semi-incoherently, before the reality of the situation suddenly hit the Boy-Who-Had-Lost-Too-Much like a ton of bricks.

The closest thing he'd ever had to a brother, Ron Weasley, was dead.

Harry had never felt so devoid of hope in his entire life.

* * *

 **A place incomprehensible to the human mind**

 **A time outside normal space-time**

The entity known as Death to the inhabitants of the wizarding world frowned, his skeletal features hidden by the robe's hood which he wore.

Existing as he did outside of space and time as the mortals understood it, Death held no silly misunderstandings about the 'future' and the 'past'; to him, existence was just one big, long _**now**_. But that sort of world-view didn't mean he was incapable of knowing when things went wrong in the mortal realm.

Focusing his attention on one tiny aspect of the tangled skein that the mortals called 'reality', Death witnessed the passing of a human soul, which was – unscheduled. After all, it was the wizard's jokester sibling who was supposed to have died. And yet...

He hadn't. How bizarre. _**Quite**_ bizarre.

Already, the ripples from this unexpected act were beginning to affect the skein in unwelcome ways.

That descendant of an amusing wizard whom he had gifted a fragment of his Invisibility Cloak – he died in a nearby forest, as expected. The prophecy concerning those events had been fulfilled, and that was as it should be. But –

The Granger witch. She was not supposed to be there. And she shouldn't have used some Exploding Fluid from an Erumpent, and killed both herself and all her enemies in the form of a suicide bomber attack.

Death disliked suicides. A waste of the Creator's gift...

The ripples continued to spread out, affecting more and more events in the mortal realm.

Death witnessed how, during what mortals would consider twenty-two years into the future, a young wizard named Malfoy lacking both his best friend and the woman who would have become his wife (thanks to the Potter wizard not resurrecting himself, and the unexpected deaths of both the Granger-Weasley witch's parents) was easy prey for his first cousin once removed. First, the daughter of the Lestrange witch seduced him, and then she –

Time travel. Death _**hated**_ that.

Not to mention how the Malfoy wizard and his incestuous cousin attempted to prevent that so-called Dark Lord from fulfilling his part of that now-annoying prophecy, and creating the adversary who would eventually be killed in that forest.

"No." This simply would not do.

Death put forth His will, and history as the mortal realm knew it – lurched wildly in a completely unexpected direction.

* * *

 **The Hog's Head Inn, Hogsmeade**

 **January 10th, 1980**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was feeling more than a little surprised. He had just been about to (courteously, he hoped) dismiss Sybill Trelawney's application for the post of Divination teacher, when the woman's normal breathy, dreamy tone had turned harsh and guttural – and she had delivered a true prophecy about the future. One she'd been unable to remember, once the prophecy had been delivered.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

{ _Whoever this unborn child is, he could – but not necessarily_ _ **will**_ _– defeat Tom, somehow_ , } Albus cogitated to himself rapidly. { _Well, so be it. It seems I will have to reconsider my plans, and find out who this new savior of the wizarding world will be – and make sure that come the day, if he loses, I am there to finish off Voldemort in his stead..._ }

At that moment, Albus would have offered the Seer the teaching position she'd applied for and begun making elaborately complicated plans within plans – but then Trelawney opened her mouth, and started speaking again. And Albus was stunned to hear the woman deliver her second true prophecy of the night –

"The sixth son of the Blood Traitor approaches... born as the third month is born, and marked in both love and death... love for a sibling will be his undoing, and his death will spell doom for the witch who loves him, and the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord... and also the British wizarding world, there shall be complete chaos and destruction in their absence... the sixth son of the Blood Traitor approaches..."

* * *

 **The Death Chamber within the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, London**

 **March 2nd, 1980 (Early A.M.)**

Dumbledore was feeling every moment of his 99 long years of life, his old bones buckling under the weight of the burden of all that he had done – and all he was about to do.

"Are you prepared?" the voice of Saul Croaker, the head Unspeakable quickly brought Albus out of his thoughts.

"Nearly." Albus then gestured towards a sphere of golden light, within which a naked male infant – Ronald Bilius Weasley – was asleep, the newborn having been abducted yesterday mere moments after his birth. A Transfigured homunculus had been substituted in his place, for the grieving parents to bury after being obliviated and led into believing their child had been stillborn. "I still need the last two ingredients for the ritual."

"Of course." Croaker then placed two vials onto the nearby altar, one containing a sample of his blood and the other a sample of his bone marrow. "You can use the Gemino Charm to create as much as you need. I will return later to claim the leftovers. I trust I do not need to warn you not to try to keep any of my blood and bone for any future use?"

"Of course not," Albus replied, feeling somewhat insulted by the other wizard's words. Then he remembered what he had just done to the Weasley family, and his annoyance quickly vanished. After all, Croaker had every right to suspect him.

Just like Arthur and Molly would have the right to try to kill him, if they ever found out what he'd done...

"If I may ask, why have you agreed to help me?" Dumbledore suddenly blurted out, staring at his hooded, faceless companion.

"In the entire history of the Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables have been made, not born. You offer an opportunity to finally correct that; to create a _**true**_ Unspeakable from birth, one uncontaminated by the wizarding world's cultural imprinting," the Head of the Department replied with perfect equanimity.

"You would raise the boy in complete isolation, then, other than your fellow Unspeakables? Do you not fear creating a monster even worse than the current Dark Lord?" Albus asked in surprise.

"Monsters like Tom Riddle are born, not made," Croaker said dismissively, before he gestured in the direction of the room's door. "Here in the Department, we study love, time, thought, as well as life and death. The boy will be taught the difference between right and wrong, and want for nothing until he comes of age and chooses his own path."

"Just make sure he never goes to Hogwarts for his education," Albus said warningly. "Send young Ronald to Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang, or even Ilvermorny if you must. The prophecy which I shared with you was quite clear on what will happen, if he ever joins with the other two mentioned by Trelawney."

Saul Croaker said nothing; he merely inclined his hooded head, before he turned around and exited out of the Death Chamber. Dismissing his co-conspirator, Albus then turned his attention to the baby floating not far away.

{ _For the Greater Good, this_ _ **must**_ _be done,_ } Albus told himself firmly, still trying to convince himself of that. { _The sixth son of Arthur and Molly Weasley needs to be erased from existence_ _ **completely**_ _. It is not enough for young Ronald to be raised by Saul and his colleagues, here at the Ministry; there must be no traces left in him of the one Sybill spoke of in her prophecy. It is a_ _ **terrible**_ _thing I'm about to do, there can be no denying that; but the British wizarding world is already at war, and if there is any hope for it not to be torn asunder thanks to Tom and his followers, then sacrifice – even the sacrifice of an innocent – is unavoidable. As the muggles like to say... needs must, when the devil drives._ }

Straightening his spine, Dumbledore then began his ritual. It was a good thing the youngest Weasley infant was trapped in a dreamless sleep, because –

All of Ronald's blood and bone marrow vanished from his body, leaving the baby looking like a mummified corpse for the briefest instant, as Dumbledore used Croaker's vials to replace what had been stolen – creating a new magical child in the place of the old, who was fortunately still trapped in stasis and had no idea what had been done to him.

Not even a Gringotts blood test would be able to reveal Ronald Croaker's true origins, now.

Far away in Crawley, the infant girl named Hermione Granger began to shriek incoherently within her crib, as her worried parents frantically tried to find out what was wrong with her – while in Godric's Hollow, Lily Potter began to scream in agony as her unborn son, Harry James Potter, thrashed around inside his mother's womb.

All thanks to the destiny shared by the members of the Golden Trio being destroyed, before it had ever truly formed.

Albus Dumbledore had adequately understood one prophecy, if not the other one...

But at least things were looking up for the Order of the Phoenix, as a whole.

* * *

 **A/N:** Just wanted to say thanks to everyone for their reviews and feedback – and a particular thank you to Guest, for his/her lengthy review with all the various plot ideas: some of them were brilliant, I'll definitely keep them in mind! Anyway, the two 'might have been's in this chapter – one which initially begins near the start of chapter 19 (p. 366) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows', and the other based on chapters 31 and 32 of the same book – nothing from therein belongs to me. As always, I hope you keep reading and reviewing this fanfic – things will get more interesting from here!


	8. The Loneliest Mile

**Chapter Eight: The Loneliest Mile**

 **12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London**

 **August 4th, 1997**

As Harry hurried towards the kitchen after parting company with Ron, part of his mind was focused on preventing Hermione from going on a rage-fueled rampage – and the other part was focused on what the 'might have been' Ron Weasley had said to everyone in that Mirror-induced vision just now, whilst he was under the influence of veritaserum.

Namely, that Dumbledore had made too many mistakes to blindly trust in him any longer.

{ _It's not really his fault, is it?_ } Harry tried to excuse his best mate's words in his own mind. { _After all, that Ron Weasley hadn't lived through everything the real one has – the past year or so, a lot's changed! Plus, for all I know, that blasted Mirror just made all of that up for us to fight amongst ourselves, or something. I mean... surely the real Ron wouldn't think all that after Dumbledore died that way, with Snape stabbing him – and all the rest of us – in the back like that!_ }

Harry reflexively repressed the white-hot hatred he always felt towards the turncoat spy, whenever thoughts about Severus Snape crossed his mind nowadays. That sort of thing wouldn't help, especially now –

BANG! CRASH!

Harry winced as he rushed into the kitchen, just in time to see the enraged Hermione throwing a kettle against the wall. "Herm-"

"That rude, uncouth, insensitive _**git**_!" Hermione screamed, as the kettle crashed to the ground. With a flick of her wand, the bushy-haired witch then incanted, "Reparo!" and fixed the huge dent the kettle had suffered. Then she snarled, "How _**dare**_ Ron say all that about the wisest and most venerated wizard in British history?!"

"Well, you know, the veritaserum –"

"Is unreliable, I know – while the drinker's answers are sincere, they're not necessarily true. But that's the whole point; Ron _**believed**_ all that nonsense he just spouted off, that's why he said it!" Hermione ranted.

"Well... none of it was actually a lie, was it?" Harry said tentatively, and immediately moved back as Hermione turned her ire-filled gaze on him. "No, no, I mean – I'm not saying I agree with that Ron that we can't fully trust Dumbledore and what he told us, but mistakes _**have**_ been made over the years. Like that vision we had of a world where Crouch junior was unmasked early, and Cedric didn't die; all it would have taken is me thinking of summoning Dobby that night, remember? My mistake there, Hermione, no point denying it..."

"That's different," Hermione said stubbornly, shaking her head and her tangled hair flying wildly. "I mean... you don't have the same faults _**he**_ does! Like that whole emotional range of a teaspoon thing!"

"Um, well... I suppose Ron can be his own worst enemy, sometimes," Harry decided it was pointless arguing with his female friend when she was in this sort of mood. "Err –"

"He thinks swearing is perfectly acceptable even when speaking to the head of the country's government, and he's got all these utterly ridiculous ideas about wizarding Britain being, being hopelessly sick and diseased, and Ron would have left me-us, just because Scrimgeour ordered him to do it!" the young woman seethed, briefly stumbling over that one word.

{ _Here we go again,_ } Harry thought to himself in annoyance, not really paying attention as Hermione continued her diatribe against their friend. _{ Please don't tell me that this will be another one of Hermione's speeches that Ron needs to turn into someone she totally approves of? I mean, while he's at it, maybe my best mate will give up being interested in chocolate frogs, Quidditch – and blonds! I mean there's Fleur, Madam Rosmerta, Lavender Brown, and maybe even that Slytherin girl in our year, what was her name again – Daphne Greengrass? Yeah, no wonder Hermione's gotten so jealous of the competition over the years..._ }

"Oh, for heaven's sake! You're not even listening to me, are you?" Hermione suddenly yelled at him, causing Harry to jolt out of his thoughts. " _ **Boys**_! You're all the same!"

"No, we're not," Harry defended himself. "And if you like Ron, Hermione, why don't you just tell him that? You should simply end this ridiculous charade you two have been engaging in since our fourth year, if you fancy him already!"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione took a step back, an uncertain look appearing on her face.

"Oh, come on – you _**know**_ what I'm talking about, Hermione!" Harry shook his head. "When Ron was poisoned last year, whose name did he call out in his delirium? Yours, or Lavender's? And when you invited Ron to come with you to the Slug Club Christmas party, it wasn't just as a friend, was it? Ugh, please – if you taking Cormac McLaggen to that party wasn't just a ploy to make Ron jealous, then I'm a monkey's uncle!"

"Well, yes; Cormac was a mistake, I'm not denying that, but –"

"But what?" Harry interrupted. "We've _**seen**_ it thanks to that Mirror, remember? Bloody hell, even Dawlish and Scrimgeour figured it out, merely by watching you and Ron have at it that way! Have you forgotten that particular 'might have been' – or the one before that? The one where Ron ended up in the Evil Harry Potter world, and you started ogling him as soon as he and your 'Mione' counterpart showed up via that interdimensional portal?"

"I did _**not**_ ogle that Ron Weasley!" Hermione insisted, even though her cheeks turned an interesting shade of puce as she said that.

"Fine, whatever you say," Harry sighed, deciding to give up. "Listen, I –"

But at that moment, everything changed.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had never been the warmest place in the world, granted, but out of nowhere – it suddenly became piercingly, bitingly cold. Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, as it were. Without any warning at all, Harry felt like he'd been dunked in ice water or something, but then the cold grew even worse – like a horde of Dementors had invaded the house!

{ _No, that's not it,_ } Harry though dizzily, as goose bumps erupted all over his arms and he quickly brought his wand out. { _It doesn't feel like them – exactly. Close, but not the same. I don't –_ }

"HARRY, WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Hermione yelled, grabbing hold of his left arm in order to support herself – she looked almost ready to faint. "Is it Dementors? How'd they get past the wards, not to mention the Fidelius charm?!"

They then heard the sound of smashing glass, not far away – and the next moment, the cold abruptly vanished. Gone, as if it had never even been there. Harry blinked, "What-?"

"Ron! That lousy Mirror! Maybe it did something, I – come _**on**_ , Harry, hurry up!" Hermione yelled, starting to drag him along as they headed out the kitchen door.

{ _Bit impatient, aren't you?_ } Harry grumbled to himself. But as soon as they got to the hallway, his annoyance vanished – Ron was unconscious and laying on the dusty carpet, and the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities was nothing but an empty gold frame with shattered fragments of glass scattered all over the floor.

"Evanesco!" the bushy-haired witch started Vanishing all the shards of glass away, brilliant witch that she was. "Oh, of all the – Harry! Help me clean up the mess, will you?"

"Oh, right," the young man muttered, agreeing to help even though Hermione was much better at the spell than he was. A few moments later when the job was done, Harry said musingly, "I wonder what happened? I thought Ron was going to wait until I came back to switch that Mirror off, but instead – he destroys it? That's not like him..."

"Oh, please, with Ron's temper? Don't be ridiculous, Harry – that's _**exactly**_ the sort of thing he'd do! That Mirror must have provoked him once too often, and finally paid the price for it," Hermione said dismissively, before she pointed her wand at the ginger and chanted, "Rennervate!"

The reviving spell worked as expected, as Ron quickly woke up. But what Harry _**wasn't**_ expecting was for the bloke to start laughing, as soon as he was conscious again.

Harry quickly became alarmed, Hermione too from the look on her face, as this wasn't Ron's normal laughter – not his usual chuckles or guffaws over a boisterous prank his twin brothers had pulled, for example. No, this laughter was more – deranged, than anything else. In fact, it reminded Harry a lot of Bellatrix Lestrange from over a year ago, the way she'd laughed after Sirius had been killed –

"STOP IT!" Hermione shouted, before the bloke finally got up off of the floor. "Ron, what in the name of heaven is wrong with you?!"

The Weasley quickly stopped laughing, even though there was an odd hiccupping note to his voice as Ron muttered to himself, "So it's like that, is it? That's the best I can hope for? Better luck the next time around? Can't help thinking it won't be that simple..."

{ _What's he talking about?_ } Harry frowned in confusion as Ron pushed their hands away and slowly got up off the carpet. "Ron, what-?"

"Best you don't ask, Potter," was the curt, unfriendly reply, causing Harry to gape at his best mate. Ron then added, "I _**really**_ don't want to discuss it, understand?"

"What did you see? What did that Mirror show you, after Harry and I left?" Hermione demanded at once, gesturing at the empty golden frame. "It must have shown you _**something**_ , or else you wouldn't be acting like this! Right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Ron muttered, causing Harry to feel even more alarmed at the way his friend wouldn't even look at the girl he'd been in love with for years.

"All right, fine. I died – again," Ron spat after finally seeing the look Hermione was giving him, before he added, "Plus, I saw Potter shag someone that I wasn't really expecting him to, until I realized I was being a complete idiot."

"What, you actually saw me and Ginny – or Lavender, maybe – doing _**that**_? Oh, Merlin, Ron, I'm so sorry," Harry immediately apologized on instinct.

"You died again?" Hermione ignored him, focusing on her not-so-secret crush. "How? Why?"

"Happened at Hogwarts, and that's _**all**_ I'm going to say about it," Ron abruptly glared at her. "Don't bother asking for more details, understand? 'Cause right now, I don't give a rat's fart about satisfying your curiosity."

{ _What? Oh, Merlin's beard, but what Ron saw thanks to that Mirror must have been utterly_ _ **awful**_ _,_ } Harry cogitated to himself, as Hermione gawked at their friend in utter disbelief. { _I mean, there's no other explanation for why Ron's being so insulting to her. Right?_ }

Hermione's temper might have made an unwelcome reappearance at that point, but destiny obviously had other plans, as a deafening _**crack**_! echoed in the hallway.

"Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master," the Black family house elf proclaimed in his bullfrog-like voice, his arms wrapped around Fletcher's legs as both elf and wizard ended up on the floor.

Mundungus kicked Kreacher away, before he scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too quick for him. "Expelliarmus!" Immediately, Mundungus's wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it.

Wild-eyed, Mundungus tried to head for the front door: but Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the floor again, with a muffled crunch.

"What?!" the sneak thief bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron's grip. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' 'ouse elf on me, what are you lot playin' at? Wha've I done, lemme go, lemme go, or –"

"Shut up," Ron interrupted Fletcher's tirade, as he punched the wizard in the solar plexus and Mundungus abruptly wheezed in shock, all the air exhaled out as the thief fought to regain his breath. "Now where's the locket?"

"Eh? What d'you mean, what locket?" Fletcher eventually gasped out.

"Don't lie," Hermione said viciously, as Ron hauled Fletcher to his feet. "You know what locket! After Sirius died, and you stripped this house of anything even remotely valuable? You took a locket out of the kitchen cupboard, along with a lot of other things! Now where is it?!"

"Why?" Mundungus asked, no longer attempting to get loose. "Is it valuable?"

"You've still got it!" Hermione cried, leaping to conclusions.

"No, he doesn't," Ron said, staring hard at Mundungus. "Can't be that simple."

Harry frowned, something about those words didn't quite sound right – it was almost as if... Ron had known that Dung wouldn't have the locket any longer? But no, that didn't make sense – how could he possibly have already known that? Yes, on second thoughts, his best mate was just assuming that their usual luck was in play.

And unfortunately, from the expression on Fletcher's face – it didn't look as if Ron was wrong, either...

"He's right, don' have it no more... bleedin' gave it away, di'n' I? No choice," Mundungus confessed, as the ginger relaxed his grip somewhat.

"What do you mean?" Harry wanted to know.

"Eh, I was sellin' in Diagon Alley, and some bint come up ta me and asks if I've got a license for tradin' in magical artifacts. Bleedin' snoop," Fletcher cursed. "She was gonna fine me, but then she took a fancy to the locket an' told me she'd take it and lemme off that time, and ta fink meself lucky."

"Who was this woman?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I dunno, some Ministry hag..." Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. "Little woman. Pink bow on top of 'er head." He frowned and then added, "Looked like a toad, more'n anythin' else."

"Umbitch? Well, that's just bloody marvelous," Ron cursed, before either Harry or Hermione could say anything.

"Language!" Hermione chastised him, but Ron ignored her completely.

"What do you reckon, Potter? Obliviate him and then kick him out, or simply kill him for leaving Moody to die that night?" the ginger demanded emotionlessly.

{ _What?_ } Harry moved his mouth soundlessly, unsure how to answer that. { _Is Ron actually serious about that?_ }

"'Ere, I panicked, okay? I never wanted ta come along! No offense, but I never volunteered ta die for Potter, an' that was bleedin' You-Know-Who come flyin' straight at me! Anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn't wanna do it –" Mundungus started babbling nervously.

"Stupefy!" Hermione abruptly hit the thieving wizard with a powerful Stunner, who then collapsed into Ron's arms.

Ron shrugged slightly and asked, "Kreacher, you want him?"

The Black elf accepted custody of the prisoner, before letting go of the thief – whose head then hit the floor with a muffled thud. He tsk'ed, "Kreacher is so awkward, Master Harry, he apologizes for his clumsiness..."

"I think we ought to obliviate Fletcher rather than kill him, Harry – you never know, we might find a use for him later on," Hermione decided.

"He's obviously unreliable as curse-fodder, but you two do what you want," Ron shrugged again. "Far as I'm concerned, there are other priorities."

Harry frowned, as his friend turned around and headed upstairs. Ignoring the look of chagrin on Hermione's face, he thought to himself, { _Merlin's pants, but I hope Ron gets over whatever it was he saw in that Mirror soon, and goes back to normal. Last thing we need around here is him and Hermione to start fighting like they normally do!_ }

Kreacher suddenly let out a cry of great distress. "What has happened to Mistress's portrait?!" Then he peered at the empty gold frame of the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities and added in a happier tone, "The hidden cursed mirror of the blood traitors is no more? Kreacher is pleased, yes, very pleased to know this..."

* * *

 **Black Family library**

 **Later that night**

Ron Weasley sat on the most comfortable chair in the room, which wasn't saying much, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey – one that was a leftover from the days when Sirius had been forced to live here, as a fugitive from the law. He was greatly tempted to get drunk to try to forget everything that he'd seen and learned today – better to end up completely legless than, say, try to obliviate himself – but the young man suspected that if he started drowning himself with the magical alcohol, then he'd never be able to stop...

{ _I saw Death itself,_ } Ron thought hollowly, slowly placing the bottle on the floor. { _Bloody fucking hell, that story of the three brothers from_ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _was actually true?! Makes you wonder if all the rest of them bard tales are true as well... no, never mind. Question is, what am I going to do now?_ }

He honestly didn't know. Because Ron's mind was a completely chaotic mess at the moment, he was quite willing to admit that. And while normally he'd simply confess everything to Harry and Hermione in order to fix that, right now, he couldn't – it just wasn't a viable option.

Because if he even so much as thought of those two, in Ron's mind, he saw them making love to one another in that tent – which was enough to make him want to lash out and kill someone, or else curl up into a ball and wish the world would go away... as the Mirror had oh-so-charmingly put it, after one of the visions earlier today.

{ _All right, let's start from the beginning. Potter is a... a Horcrux,_ } Ron thought to himself slowly. { _He became one when he survived the Killing Curse, the same night his parents died. And like the Mirror said, Dumbledore knew – he had to have known. Maybe he knew all along, or maybe he just suspected up until he examined that Diary Horcrux Lucius Malfoy planted on Ginny? Doesn't really matter, the point is Dumbledore was too smart and too powerful not to have learned the truth at some point – and he_ _ **didn't tell anyone**_ _before he died? Not even Potter himself? Blimey! If I hadn't found out the truth today, what then? We'd have lost the war, just because that – that manipulative old coot took the most important secret with him to his grave?_ }

The more Ron thought about it, the angrier he got. { _I just – I honestly can't understand what the heck Dumbledore was thinking! I mean, if he wanted the three of us to hunt down the horcruxes, then why didn't he simply give us the Sword of Gryffindor before he got killed? He only had a year or more to do it! And even assuming there was a valid reason not to hand it over that way, then why would our mysterious ally wait so long to deliver it in the Forest of Dean? It just doesn't make any sense – well, unless the old man really_ _ **did**_ _go completely mental, towards the end! I mean, what other explanation is there? Dumbledore didn't even tell me that I could use the Deluminator that way, I thought it was just a toy to switch the lights on and off..._ }

Shaking his head, Ron dismissed thoughts of Dumbledore from his mind. He then thought about all the visions he'd seen today, all the 'what might have been's courtesy of the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – and slowly, he came to the conclusion that if the Mirror had been trying to teach him any kind of lesson, it was this:

All the people with true power that he'd encountered in his life so far, _**none**_ of them could be trusted.

Snape.

Lockhart.

Barty Crouch junior.

Umbridge.

Scrimgeour.

Voldemort.

Dumbledore.

Even Granger and Potter...

{ _Merlin's arse, how did I not see it before?_ } Ron asked himself in astonishment, as he went over everything he'd seen and heard from a few hours ago. { _And that means – I can't confide in anyone about this, can I? Not even my family! Because no matter who it was, Ginny would soon learn that the specky git she still loves is almost certainly doomed, and I can't do that to her! So I've got to do it all myself, which... shouldn't be too hard. I mean, if the best I can hope for is that Death eventually changes it all, right from the start... from before Potter is even born... so that the Order can eventually win the war, then what else can I do but make sure I die in Fred's place, around nine months from now?_ }

Straightaway, that led to something that Ron did _**not**_ want to think about – the concept of him and Hermione having a daughter, and that daughter eventually getting involved with Draco Malfoy's son. { _Erghhhh..._ }

All right, maybe that part wasn't entirely bad – any child of Hermione's would almost certainly inherit her brains, and the girl should be able to tell whether or not the Ferret's kid was worthy of her love. Hopefully, anyway. And best as he could tell from Death's thoughts, the boy would take after his mother a lot more than his father, if that evil bitch who was determined to make sure Voldemort won actually had to seduce him in order to get Malfoy junior to join her. And while Ron didn't exactly relish the idea of having any Malfoy become part of the family, the more important issue was –

{ _How could I ever hold my infant daughter in my arms, knowing the price for her existence was Fred's life?_ } Ron asked himself blackly. { _And yeah, I can't be completely sure it'll happen that way – there are no certainties, after all, maybe I could figure out how to save my brother without having to die that way, but – is that worth the possible consequences? Especially after learning that Potter and Granger will most likely end up together, in a few months' time? Wait... does that mean she'd_ _ **settle**_ _for me, after Potter's dead? Probably, yeah... which means... no, forget it. I already know what the best possible outcome is; so I'm sorry, little darling, but I simply can't afford to risk it. Daddy needs to die both for Uncle Fred to live, and for Death to do what it'll do..._ }

Grabbing the firewhiskey from its place on the floor, Ron got up off the chair and started to pace around the room. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, contemplating your own death – but by this point, Ron had long suspected he'd never had any real chance of surviving the war, anyway. And as long as his family – his parents, brothers and sister – as long as they lived, he was more or less okay with that.

But hang on – if Trelawney did make that second prophecy about _ **him**_ of all people, and Dumbledore did kidnap him as a baby and did that blood magic ritual on him within the Death Chamber – _**would**_ the Weasley family be okay? Ron frowned, as he tried to imagine what a world without him growing up at the Burrow would be like...

{ _It'll probably be better for everyone there, actually,_ } the young wizard thought to himself slowly. { _Not like I ever did anything important before Hogwarts, and there'd be a few more galleons to go around with six kids rather than seven, if I'm not there. And so what if Ginny doesn't have a brother close to her own age, or Fred and George don't have their favorite choice of prank victim, growing up? They'll make do, somehow. Bill, Charlie and Percy, they'd help out – and they'd help their parents cope with the lie Dumbledore will engineer about my 'death' as well. Okay, I'm a bit worried that Ginny might die during my second year, and Dad might get killed by Voldemort's snake during my O.W.L.s year, if Potter doesn't have any strong connection to the Weasleys – but as long as the bloke's not evil, the odds are he'd still save them, right? I can only hope so, anyway._ }

Feeling a little better, Ron put the bottle of Ogden's finest on a nearby table as he thought to himself, { _So how would me ending up an Unspeakable actually help the Order win, with the least amount of life lost? Do I interfere in that battle at the Department of Mysteries, during fifth year? Prevent those recent lies about muggleborns 'stealing' magic from ever getting published? Or – maybe it's because I was never there to get in the way, Potter and everyone else are simply better prepared for the war?_ }

Shrugging, Ron put those thoughts aside and began to plan for the future in this timeline. { _At some point, we'll most likely retrieve the locket Horcrux from Umbridge, and then be forced to abandon this house, go on the run and live in that tent for months. And practically starve to death, before I leave Potter and Granger to shack up together! Doesn't sound like fun at all – so first thing I... we... need to do, is stash enough food all over the country to last us for at least a year. Oh, and find that Exploding Fluid, I suppose..._ }

He winced at the thought of Hermione committing suicide, and quickly decided that all he'd do was procure the explosives – nothing else. If Granger decided she wanted to die that way after both he and Potter were gone, that would be strictly her decision. Despite everything he'd witnessed today, Ron knew he still owed the brunette witch a _**lot**_ for all her help over the past six years – and there was still a tiny part of him that loved her and wanted her for himself, damn it all.

{ _Forget that,_ } Ron told himself firmly, before wandering over to the library shelves. { _Because if all goes according to plan – both her and Potter will grow up in a world where Ron Weasley will have officially died at birth, where he will have only existed for a day or so before Ronald Croaker takes over his life instead. Yeah, have to admit – can't help wondering what growing up as an Unspeakable will be like..._ }

The youth grabbed a book about the Department of Mysteries off a nearby shelf, and started to read. But then there was a flash of golden fire, and a familiar-looking swan-sized bird appeared –

"Fawkes?" Ron said in surprise, as the phoenix settled on the edge of his shoulder. "How'd you-? Merlin, I wasn't expecting you to show up..."

The truth was, after Dumbledore's death, everyone had thought they had seen the last of the immortal creature; it had sung its final song after the funeral, and then departed for parts unknown. But now that it was here, maybe Fawkes could –

"OUCH!" Ron yelled in pain after the phoenix's razor-sharp beak dug into his earlobe, drawing blood. "Oi, what-?"

Ron didn't have time to say anything else, as he felt Fawkes' tongue taste his blood before a teardrop healed the wound, and then the songbird took off into the air. It seemed to stare at him intensely, circling him once – before the phoenix vanished with another burst of fire.

"That thing must have gone completely mental!" Ron tried to figure out what all that had been for, but it had been a long day filled with too many shocks, and so he just gave up, grabbed the firewhiskey and left for his bedroom – his _**new**_ bedroom, he could no longer share a room with Potter without something regrettable happening – and decided to get some sleep.

The future – the next nine months or so – felt like a long, dark tunnel for him to crawl through... with the most likely outcome being a very painful death, awaiting him at Hogwarts.

* * *

 **The Forbidden Forest, not far from the Hogwarts grounds**

 **May 2nd, 1998**

{ _I'm going to die,_ } Harry thought to himself bleakly, as he walked slowly to his doom. { _I was never meant to survive all this. Well, at least it'll be over soon, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric's Hollow will finally be finished: neither will live, neither will survive..._ }

Harry's mind was still reeling with the knowledge of everything he'd learned less than an hour ago, and so it went back to the beginning, trying to make sense of it all. The Horcrux hunt which had commenced at the start of the year – no, even before that... the incident with the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, within the ancestral Black family home. The encounter that had changed everything between him and Hermione and Ron –

{ _Ron._ } His first friend other than Hagrid, when he was just eleven years old. The boy who had grown up alongside him and Hermione, and who Harry had hoped he'd be able to call 'brother' one day – at least, if he and Ron's sister Ginny survived the war and got married afterwards. The ginger who'd been with him right from the start, who had seen him at his best and worst and stuck by him –

– until that blasted Mirror had shown him something so _**horrible**_ that Ron had completely withdrawn from him and Hermione, both.

Hermione had nagged at Ron to tell them the truth, of course, she couldn't stand not knowing the answer to any mystery. But all that her pestering and demands for an explanation had gotten her was shrugs and cold looks, before Ron had either left the room or changed the subject. Eventually Hermione had given up in tears, confiding to him that Ron simply wasn't the same person anymore, and she couldn't understand _**why**_...

But life had gone on, and eventually the day had come where they'd infiltrated the Ministry and successfully stolen the locket Horcrux from Umbridge. That was also the day they'd been forced to abandon Kreacher and the Order headquarters at Grimmauld Place, since that Death Eater – Yaxley – had managed to follow them there, and so the Black family residence had been lost to them.

It hadn't been so bad, immediately afterwards. Even though Ron had been badly splinched, both he and Hermione had looked after the bloke until he'd recovered. And the ginger had pulled his own weight even while he'd been handicapped, holding on to the Horcrux – for some reason, it had been unable to attack Ron's mind the same way it had attacked his and Hermione's, and so it hadn't taken long before they'd realized the situation and Ron had started carrying that damned locket all the time.

Well, almost – Hermione had insisted that she and Harry also take their turns with it, though those occasions grew less and less as the Horcrux started to attack them more and more. But as long as Ron was there, that hadn't been a problem – and add in the incredibly lucky fact that the bloke had come up with the idea that they should hide food and supplies all over the country just in case they were forced to abandon their temporary home, it was almost as if they'd gone on a camping holiday or something!

But the good times hadn't lasted, of course. After nearly two months of wandering around looking for Voldemort's soul anchors (and something to destroy the Horcrux they already had), and slowly getting more and more discouraged, winter had set in early and Harry's black mood had grown worse and worse. Eventually a night had come – November 28th, Harry would never forget that date – when he'd completely lost his temper after a row over the wizarding radio, and he had screamed at Ron to get out of the tent, and go back to his family.

Both he and Hermione had been surprised by Ron's response, though: "It's finally time for me to leave, is it? All right, then, here's the locket. I'll grab my things, and piss off – but just in case you change your mind, Potter? I'll be waiting for you and Granger in the Forest of Dean near the branch point of the River Wye, exactly five weeks from tonight. Good luck to you both until then, I suppose..."

Hermione had practically begged Ron not to go, of course. But he had told her, calmly and coldly, that he wasn't going to stay somewhere he wasn't wanted. And when Hermione had said that if he left she was going to leave with him, Ron had told her in the most reasonable tone imaginable that if she did that and Harry got himself killed, then all the hopes of the British wizarding world would die with him. Therefore she had to stay, and if Harry changed his mind at some point, they could reform the trio again five weeks later.

Once Ron had left Harry had felt roughly two inches tall, and the locket had seized on the opportunity to attack his mind more brutally than ever. It didn't help that Hermione's glares had lasted a full week, and that they ended up playing hot potato with the locket until that disastrous Christmas trip to Godric's Hollow, where Harry's wand had been broken and Voldemort's snake Nagini had nearly killed them both.

Harry hadn't said anything to Hermione about losing his wand, of course – she was already miserable and discouraged enough as it was, despite saving his life that night. He was pretty sure the only thing which had kept her going at that point was the thought of the upcoming rendezvous with Ron, within the Forest of Dean. Harry was honest enough with himself to admit that the thought of reuniting with his former best mate was pretty much all that was sustaining him, as well.

And what a rendezvous it had been – encountering the mysterious silver doe patronus, following it to that small, ice-covered pool in the forest, and recovering the Sword of Gryffindor! Okay, he'd almost drowned thanks to the locket trying to strangle him that night, but Ron had shown up in time to save his life and destroy the locket, and everything had worked out alright in the end.

(Although Harry still hadn't quite figured out why Ron had muttered, "Wasn't supposed to be like this...", after hauling both him and the Sword out of the freezing water.)

Anyway, Ron's return had more or less been like a long-overdue family reunion – the bloke had seemed to lose a lot of his cold, apathetic attitude once he'd rejoined them, much to his and Hermione's relief. Although – that first time the ginger had entered the tent and Hermione had thrown herself into his arms, Ron had frowned and stared at her bed with a questioning look on his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry – do you want your sweater back?" Hermione had asked uncomfortably.

"You were wearing it in your sleep?" Ron had replied, looking flabbergasted as his gaze had flicked back and forth between her bed and his former best friend's. "Wasn't expecting that..."

Nonetheless, once the trio had been reunited, life had started looking up. Granted, there had been Snatchers everywhere by that point, looking to grab muggleborns and blood traitors and turn them in for a reward from the Ministry; but Harry hadn't been too worried about them, he had full confidence in Hermione's enchantments protecting them from that sort of rabble.

Until the day he'd _**foolishly**_ said Voldemort's name, despite knowing about the Taboo curse, and they'd been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. That evil bitch Bellatrix had then tortured Ron, while he and Hermione were held captive in the dungeons – Harry _**still**_ couldn't believe some of the things Ron had said to rile up that insane woman beforehand, like the Lestrange witch secretly being the product of a drunken centaur raping her mother – until Dobby had shown up to rescue the three of them, along with Dean Thomas, Luna and Garrick Ollivander.

Poor Dobby – the elf's death had been a horrible blow, even though Harry had almost gotten used to losing friends and allies in the war by that point. What he hadn't been expecting, though, was Bill almost hexing him and Hermione when they showed up at Shell Cottage, with Ron half-dead and semi-catatonic from the torture – apparently, the curse-breaker hadn't liked learning just why his little brother had left the group back in November...

It had taken his alienated (former?) friend weeks to recover, even with Hermione being Ron's devoted nurse and glaring at anyone (especially him) who even so much as suggested that they couldn't stay at the cottage forever. But eventually they had made their plans to break into Gringotts and with the goblin Griphook's help, they'd managed to retrieve the Horcrux that was Helga Hufflepuff's cup. It was unfortunate that they'd lost the Sword of Gryffindor, but Harry couldn't help noticing that Ron hadn't looked too concerned by that – and, not for the first time, he'd wondered why nothing seemed to faze the former Gryffindor Keeper any longer, how it was that Ron always seemed to act like victory was inevitable.

Not that he was complaining, of course – if it hadn't been for that sort of attitude, they might have died down in the vaults of Gringotts, instead of Hermione getting the bright idea for the three of them to ride that dragon out of the caves, and away to safety...

But then they'd arrived at the Hog's Head and later at Hogwarts, and everything had quickly accelerated towards open war. First the cup Horcrux had been destroyed, thanks to Ron going down to the Chamber of Secrets (who would have ever thought he could imitate speaking parseltongue that way?) and stabbing it with a basilisk fang, while he and Hermione had figured out where Voldemort's Diadem Horcrux had been hidden. It was too bad the Room of Requirement had been utterly wrecked by Vincent Crabbe's fiendfyre in the process of destroying that Horcrux, along with Crabbe dying as well – but those were the fortunes of war, so to speak.

And then disaster had struck – the three of them had encountered Fred and Percy, and Ron had died saving Fred's life. Hermione had almost become a complete nutter afterwards, and he'd been forced to leave her behind with Ron's family in order to go after Nagini. But not before Bill had handed him a letter that he said Ron had given to him, in case his youngest brother died at some point.

The message inside the envelope had been simple, and direct to the point: 'HARRY POTTER IS A HORCRUX.'

Naturally, that information had left Harry stunned, and he'd barely managed to shamble over the Shrieking Shack in time to witness Snape's murder at Nagini's fangs, after Voldemort had ordered his familiar to kill the dungeon bat. Luckily, Dumbledore's loyal spy in the enemy ranks had lived just long enough to pass on his memories to Harry, which had confirmed that he was indeed a Horcrux and that _**he**_ needed to die along with Nagini, so that someone else – Neville, possibly, the other potential candidate for the prophecy – could finish the job, and finally slay that near-soulless, snake-faced abomination...

{ _Either way, as far as I'm concerned, the Quidditch match is over,_ } Harry thought numbly to himself, as he walked through the forest. { _The Snitch has been caught, it's time to leave the air –_ }

The Snitch. Just as Dumbledore had given his Deluminator to Ron and his personal copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to Hermione, so too had Harry received his own posthumous gift from the old man. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck, before he pulled it out.

' _I open at the close._ '

Breathing fast and hard, he stared down at it. Finally understanding what the words meant, Harry pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, "I am about to die."

The metal shell instantly broke open. Harry lowered his shaking hand, and then raised the wand he'd recently taken from Draco Malfoy – the real one, not that fake image within the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – and he murmured, "Lumos."

The black stone, with a jagged crack running down the center, sat in the two halves of the Snitch. Just as he'd suspected, it was the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows. It wasn't in the best condition; as said, it had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the Stone Deathly Hallows were still discernible, though. And again, Harry understood without having to think why Dumbledore had willed this stone to him.

He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times.

"You shouldn't have done that, Harry. Summoning the dead comes with a heavy price, you ought to know that by now," Ron's voice said, and straightaway Harry opened his eyes to look at the shade of his best friend.

Ron was neither ghost nor truly flesh, Harry understood that as soon as his hand passed through the ginger's lanky form. "Ron? You're really here?"

"In a manner of speaking. I mean, everything Ron Weasley was, I still am," the shade shook his head. "I honestly thought you'd know better than to use one of the Hallows, though, other than your cloak. Remember what happened to the second brother in Beedle the Bard's tale? Cadmus Peverell was arrogant enough to think he could handle the sight of his lost love after he summoned her from beyond the grave, but he couldn't. Oh, how he couldn't..."

"I'm not him, Ron. And whatever the price for bringing you back is, I'm about to die at Voldemort's hands – so what does that matter now?" Harry wanted to know, clutching the Resurrection Stone tighter in his hand.

"Well, there is that," Ron's shade inclined his head slightly. "So – why? Did you want me to tell you to be brave, that dying won't hurt, that it'll all be over in an instant-?"

"I didn't want you to die," Harry interrupted, suddenly finding it hard to look at the dead wizard standing in front of him. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I didn't want anyone to die –"

"You're talking about Lupin and Tonks," the ginger interrupted. "And don't summon them, Harry, I know you want to – but don't. Not them. Not Sirius. Not even your parents. It's not right to bring back the dead, Harry. You'll only make them – and yourself – suffer."

"And you?" Harry asked forlornly. "Are you suffering because I brought you back, Ron? Are you suffering now so that I don't inflict that same pain on others? Snape would call that stupid, Gryffindor nobility..."

"Severus Snape, heh – he was definitely a complicated bloke, wasn't he, Harry?" Ron's shade said musingly. "I know you saw his memories in Dumbledore's pensieve, we both know now how much your mother meant to him..."

"Snape was in love with my mother. Even though he called her a mudblood and she broke off their friendship during their fifth year at Hogwarts, he still loved Lily Evans all the days of his life," Harry said musingly. "As soon as I knew that, of course, I understood why he always acted that way towards me. I was a constant reminder of all his sins."

"It wasn't just that, Harry. Snape was the reason you became the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Chosen One," the other boy replied gravely.

"What do you mean?"

"The prophecy," Ron's shade replied. "Snape was the reason why it had to be you, not Neville. Not the only reason, granted, but the most important one. Because Snape overheard part of the prophecy and told his master, and given the child of said prophecy had to be marked as Voldemort's equal and later confront him, that boy _**had**_ to have the possibility of surviving the attack. And unfortunately, Neville couldn't have lived if he'd been hit with Voldemort's Killing Curse. It would have been impossible for him to do so."

"I don't understand," Harry frowned. "Ron – you're telling me that I was always the one destined to survive that Avada Kedavra, that Neville wouldn't have survived it – but why? Neville's mum would have made the same sacrifice mine did, I'm sure of it!"

"It's not that simple, Harry. Alice Longbottom was an Auror, just like her husband Frank, and the odds are she wouldn't have just stood there and sacrificed her life to empower that sort of magical protection; instincts in the heat of battle are a hard thing to ignore. And besides, it wouldn't have worked even if she could have done that – Voldemort would have wanted both of Neville's parents dead," Ron's shade told him mournfully. "Whereas you... yes, Voldemort wanted James Potter dead – but your mum didn't have to die. You've known that ever since your battle with Quirrell and Voldemort, that night with the Mirror of Erised, remember? Truth is that Snape asked – more like begged – Voldemort to spare your mother, to give her to him as a gift for services rendered – and, somewhat amused by what he imagined Snape would do to her, that evil maniac agreed to the request. _**That's**_ where everything went wrong for Tommy Riddle, you see – he decided to let Lily Potter live, no matter that he later killed her anyway, and that's what enabled your mum to work the sacrificial magic that allowed you to survive the Killing Curse. To survive and become known as the Boy-Who-Lived, something Neville couldn't ever be."

Harry felt sick. "So you're telling me that the only reason I ever lived this long, was because of _**Snape**_?"

"And Dumbledore, don't forget him," Ron's shade suddenly smiled. "Did I ever mention that the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities actually described him as a 'brilliant, manipulative poof?' Bit unflattering, I know; but the description's also rather fitting, if you ask me."

Harry blinked. "That Mirror... I always wondered, Ron. What did it _**really**_ show you after I left you alone with it that day, what was so terrible that it made you turn away from me and Hermione like that? Both of us almost went spare trying to figure it out, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I always knew." Ron was silent for a few moments then said, "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. The truth is, Harry, my great-grandfather's creation could not only show people the 'might have been's from the past – but also the 'might be's from the future. After you went to check on Hermione that day, I asked the Mirror to show me what would most likely be happening to us in early January – so, can you guess what it showed me?"

"That Mirror showed you what might possibly be happening in the _**future**_? But Ron, you said – you said that you saw..." Harry trailed off, a look of utter horror appearing on his face.

"You shagging someone rather unexpected, yeah. It's true, Harry; I saw you in bed with Hermione, and I'm pretty sure that it wasn't the first time, either," Ron's shade nodded, ignoring the sick look on his companion's face. "That's when I found out you were a Horcrux as well, actually. Later in that vision of the future, the locket tried to bargain for its survival, and it gave me enough clues to learn the truth."

"You mean, you knew I was a Horcrux all this time – for nine bloody _**months**_ – and you never said or did anything about it, other than that letter you left with Bill at Shell Cottage? You didn't even tell Hermione?!" Harry exploded angrily.

"I brought up the subject once, actually, after she cornered me in the Black family library," Ron replied calmly. "Asked our bushy-haired genius what we should do if Voldemort made another Horcrux, if he made a person into one of those cursed things. If there was any chance we could save them, if we could remove Riddle's soul fragment without killing the human container."

"And what did she say?" Harry wanted to know, calming down.

"That she wouldn't have a clue how to do something like that, or even where to start looking to find out. And that we had other priorities anyway, finding and destroying the other horcruxes we already knew about. In other words, Hermione basically told me that the human Horcrux would have to be sacrificed for the Greater Good – if you'll pardon the expression," Ron's shade said apologetically.

"And you just accepted that it wasn't possible to save me, after seeing me shag the woman you love in that vision," Harry said in a dead, defeated tone of voice. "Makes sense, I have to say."

"It wasn't like that, not really. Because at that point? Truth is, I couldn't let myself feel _**anything**_ where you two were concerned, in order to maintain my sanity. And besides, that wasn't the only thing on my mind back then – because that vision wasn't the only one the Mirror showed me after you left, Harry. Remember how I told you and Hermione that I saw myself die, that day? Well, I thought about it, and I eventually came to the conclusion that Fred surviving that explosion was more important than me surviving it – after I got used to the fact that you and Hermione never shagged while I was gone, like I was expecting you to."

"You – you knew?" Harry whispered in sudden horror, and for the sake of his own sanity, completely ignoring that bit where Ron had been expecting him to take Hermione's virginity, once they were alone in that tent. "You're telling me that you knew all along that you were going to die today? Ever since last August? How did you-?"

"Live with it? It was pretty easy, actually," Ron's shade interrupted with an amused look. "Because pretty soon, if everything goes as I expect it will – none of this will matter anymore."

"None of this will matter anymore? What do you mean?" Harry demanded, feeling confused.

"I saw Death in that last vision, Harry. As in, Death from _The_ _Tale of the Three Brothers_. I even felt its presence later, when it showed up to personally destroy the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities for infringing upon its privacy – so did you and Hermione, remember? That horrid chill that almost felt like a horde of Dementors? That's why the locket couldn't affect me, oddly enough, unlike what I saw and heard in the vision – the one thing Voldemort and his horcruxes truly fear is death, and the personal memory of it I had repelled that locket better than any Occlumens ability. Anyway, I saw what Death is planning in case Voldemort and his forces win..."

Ron abruptly looked down, and checked what looked like the watch his parents had given him for his seventeenth birthday. "The hour of grace that evil bastard granted our side is almost up, Harry, we've talked for long enough. Time for you to go meet your destiny, I'm afraid."

"You'll stay with me until the end, won't you?"

"I'll keep the Dementors at bay, prevent them from affecting you as best I can," Ron's shade promised. "Once you face Voldemort himself, though, I can't interfere anymore."

"I understand," Harry sighed, briefly wishing he had his invisibility cloak before squaring his shoulders and straightening up. "Let's get this over with."

He walked deeper into the forest, and followed the two Death Eaters named Antonin Dolohov and Corban Yaxley to the clearing where Voldemort's forces had made their camp. There were quite a few people that Harry recognized, actually, but he only had eyes for Nagini – who floated in her glittering, charmed cage, safe from harm.

{ _Soon,_ } Harry promised her, looking at his fellow Horcrux. { _Soon enough, Neville or someone else will kill you – and then your master will be fair game, once all his soul anchors are finally gone. My only regret is that I, personally, won't be there to see him finally get what he deserves._ }

When Dolohov and Yaxley joined the circle of the faithful, Voldemort looked up. "Well?"

"No sign of him, my Lord," Dolohov replied.

"I thought Potter would come," Voldemort replied in his high, cold, clear voice, his eyes on the two minions who'd just arrived. "I was certain that he would come, to spare his friends' lives. Was I truly mistaken in thinking that?"

"No, you weren't," Harry replied, stepping into view – and immediately, a loud roar broke loose, the Death Eaters shouting, at least fifty wands pointing in his direction.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort shouted, and instantly the cacophony of noise vanished. Harry vaguely heard a familiar voice – Hagrid's, maybe? – but he only had eyes and ears for his life-long enemy now. Even Ron's shade had vanished from view.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said very softly, before his lips curled into a mirthless smirk. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

{ _I hope Ron was right when he said that Death actually has a plan to fix all this, if Voldemort wins..._ } was the last thought that went through Harry's brain, before the Killing Curse erupted from the Elder Wand.

There was a flash of green light, and then everything vanished into a black void.

* * *

 **The Forbidden Forest, not far from Hogwarts grounds**

 **A short while earlier**

Safely invisible thanks to Harry's cloak, Hermione Jean Granger was a woman on a mission.

There was very little left in her now of the idealistic teenager she'd once been, what felt like a million years ago – but was actually only a couple of days short of nine months. She had lost her parents, she had lost the Burrow which had been like her second home, she had lost all her illusions regarding how evil her fellow witches and wizards could be, and she had lost –

– him.

It was laughable, really, that Hermione had secretly dared to think that she and Ron Weasley might actually be able to have a future together, back in August (and for a long time, even before that). But the weeks and months after they'd discovered that accursed Mirror within the Order headquarters had made her doubt that such desires could ever come to pass, what with the way Ron had changed so much. The object of her affections had seemed to become a completely different person – haunted, brooding, and oftentimes surly to the point of being obscenely offensive!

It had taken until after New Year's Eve for him to recover, after splitting up with Harry and herself for those five horrid and lonely weeks. And quite frankly, it was a good thing Ron had promised to meet up with them again in the Forest of Dean – otherwise, she would have doubtless cried herself to sleep every night – and maybe even hexed his bollocks off once that boy showed up again, saving Harry's life in the process!

Still, after that, she had dared to think of a future with Ron Weasley again, especially after his demeanor had changed so much and Harry had become obsessed with the Deathly Hallows (to the point where her friend was no longer thinking about the mission Dumbledore had given all three of them – to hunt down and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes). She had thought of red-haired children, with her eyes and his mouth. At times, it had almost felt like she was practicing for the future by acting like Harry's mother, nagging and cajoling him to stick with the mission –

– until the day Harry had accidently said _**that name**_ , and reality had come crashing down around her when they'd ended up in Malfoy Manor, and Ron had been _**tortured**_ by that never-to-be-sufficiently-damned evil witch!

Hermione remembered constantly screaming Ron's name from within the Malfoy dungeons, yelling while his agonized howling from upstairs – thanks to Bellatrix's seemingly endless Cruciatus curses – had nearly driven her around the twist. If it hadn't been for Dobby – and the fact that Ron had previously confided in her that Shell Cottage was safe territory they could retreat to, if they had to – she might have lost her sanity completely!

The long, painful weeks Ron had spent recovering in his brother's house had been an excellent opportunity for her to rest and recover as well. She'd confided to Fleur that she had actually enjoyed nursing Ron back to health, and the French witch had simply smirked and said in her accented English, "I saw 'ow closely you two were dancing during ze wedding, 'ermione. And 'ow you started scowling at ma petite soeur, Gabrielle, when she started batting 'er eyelashes at Beel's brozzair. Eet is not too 'ard to... 'ow do you say... put two and two togezzer?"

Hermione had blushed and dropped the subject, after Fleur had advised her to "go for ze brass ring, as you British say", but she couldn't stop thinking about the quarter-Veela's advice either. Yes, there was a war on, and she, Ron and Harry were right in the middle of it, but – didn't Fleur have a point? What was the point of holding back any longer, when any of them could die at any time?

And three days later, of course, one of them had.

The memory of Ron dying less than two hours ago, throwing himself on top of Fred in order to save his brother's life, that was something which had made Hermione more or less lose her mind – for a short time, anyway. She remembered crying and screaming and clutching at Harry, wanting him to tell her that this was all just a terrible nightmare, that she would soon wake up at Shell Cottage and hear the roar of the sea waves crashing upon the shore, the tinkling of the wind chimes, the sound of Ron's voice saying that he was hungry –

Instead Harry had abandoned her to the care of the Weasleys, going off to kill the snake, Nagini. And once she'd recovered, she'd felt ashamed of losing sight of the mission, of what the three of them – two, now – were supposed to be doing. Yes, Ron had died without them sharing even one meaningful kiss, but she needed to focus – otherwise he would have died for nothing, when Voldemort finally won –

Grabbing Harry's invisibility cloak, as well as her wand and various weapons (including the Exploding Fluid she'd been gifted with – something Ron had asked Bill to procure from the twins, apparently), Hermione followed her old friend into the Forbidden Forest. She was tempted to stop him more than once – what did that silly fool think he was _**doing**_? Surely Harry didn't believe Voldemort's lie that he would spare everyone's lives, if his enemy simply gave himself up?

"Ron? You're really here?" she heard Harry say, holding – something in his right hand, and staring at nothing in particular right in front of him.

{ _What?_ } Hermione asked herself in confusion. { _Is Harry under a Confundus or something? I don't understand..._ }

"I'm not him, Ron. And whatever the price for bringing you back is, I'm about to die at Voldemort's hands – so what does that matter now?" Harry asked, clutching the whatever-it-was tighter in his hand.

{ _NO!_ } Hermione immediately screamed in silent denial, having figured out her friend really was that stupid after all. She was about to sprint forward and try to shake some sense into him, but then Harry said to his imaginary companion:

"I didn't want you to die. I'm so sorry, Ron. I didn't want anyone to die –"

{ _I'll just give him a few moments, then,_ } Hermione sighed to herself in annoyance. { _It sounds like Harry needs absolution from the demons inside his psyche, and so I'd best step in once he's gotten it all out, I suppose._ }

"And you?" Harry asked suddenly, sounding forlorn and miserable. "Are you suffering because I brought you back, Ron? Are you suffering now so that I don't inflict that same pain on others? Snape would call that stupid, Gryffindor nobility..."

{ _Yes, Snape most certainly would,_ } Hermione was reluctantly forced to agree with Harry's sentiment. { _Even I can't deny that; after all, the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin is the stuff of Hogwarts legend –_ }

"Snape was in love with my mother. Even though he called her a mudblood and she broke off their friendship during their fifth year at Hogwarts, he still loved Lily Evans all the days of his life," Harry said musingly, causing Hermione to gasp in surprise underneath the invisibility cloak. "As soon as I knew that, of course, I understood why he always acted that way towards me. I was a constant reminder of all his sins."

{ _Well, that, and the fact that you two never once liked each other,_ } Hermione cogitated to herself, once she got over the shock of hearing that first part. { _Snape was more than a little unpleasant to all of us – come to think of it, it's rather lucky that the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities didn't choose Snape's face and form to interact with us, instead of Malfoy's! We'd have been lacerated with broken glass, almost instantly!_ }

"I don't understand," Harry suddenly frowned. "Ron – you're telling me that I was always the one destined to survive that Avada Kedavra, that Neville wouldn't have survived it – but why? Neville's mum would have made the same sacrifice mine did, I'm sure of it!"

Suddenly, Hermione began to feel uneasy. Why would Harry ask himself that? Why would he doubt himself at this late stage? She peered closer at her friend's hand – it looked as if he was holding some sort of black stone...?

When Harry spoke up again, he sounded sick. "So you're telling me that the only reason I ever lived this long, was because of _**Snape**_?"

{ _What is he hearing?_ } Hermione was almost starting to panic now. { _What is it Harry's being told by – whoever or whatever he's listening to?_ }

A few seconds later Harry said slowly, "That Mirror... I always wondered, Ron. What did it _**really**_ show you after I left you alone with it that day, what was so terrible that it made you turn away from me and Hermione like that? Both of us almost went spare trying to figure it out, you know."

{ _Well, that's certainly true,_ } Hermione thought to herself, recalling those days at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with a hidden grimace. { _It nearly drove me utterly mad trying to determine who and what it was he saw and heard in that vision, exactly!_ }

"That Mirror showed you what might possibly be happening in the _**future**_? But Ron, you said – you said that you saw..." Harry trailed off, a look of utter horror appearing on his face.

Hermione instantly had the same look of horror on her face – she had never forgotten Ron's words that day. That he had seen himself die – again – and that he had seen Harry indulge in sexual relations with someone... unexpected.

That stone Harry was clutching – what was it? Something like the Resurrection Stone, out of _The_ _Tale of the Three Brothers_? Was Ron's shade really here, then, even if she couldn't see or hear it?

But the next moment, Harry's words penetrated Hermione's thoughts all over again... and if all this wasn't a delusion – and Harry really was speaking with Ron's invisible and inaudible ghost right now – then there was only one woman who fulfilled that criterion, wasn't there? Given how isolated the three of them had been forced to remain this year, then the only girl Ron could have realistically foreseen Harry bedding during that glimpse of the future was –

– herself.

{ _Oh dear God,_ } Hermione thought thickly, losing track of Harry's half of the conversation with his dead friend. { _This all makes so much sense now – the way Ron acted after that Mirror was destroyed, the way he treated both Harry and I before he left us behind that night... every time he looked at the two of us, in his mind – Ron must have seen us doing_ _ **that**_ _! No wonder he left! For heaven's sake, it's a miracle he ever came back!_ }

"You mean, you knew I was a Horcrux all this time – for nine bloody _**months**_ – and you never said or did anything about it, other than that letter you left with Bill at Shell Cottage? You didn't even tell Hermione?!" Harry exploded angrily.

{ _A Horcrux? What?_ } Hermione immediately froze, recalling one particular conversation during the previous August – she had found Ron in the library reading a book about the Unspeakables, of all the strangest things, and the ginger had asked her a hypothetical question about what if Voldemort ever made a human Horcrux. And she had said... she had said...

The young witch fought against the urge to vomit all over the invisibility cloak. { _What have I done? Did I sign Harry's death warrant that day? Did I convince Ron that the situation was hopeless, that Harry was doomed right from the start?_ }

"And you just accepted that it wasn't possible to save me, after seeing me shag the woman you love in that vision," Harry said in a heavy and defeated tone of voice, which instantly made Hermione gasp again. "Makes sense, I have to say."

{ _What? Ron_ _ **loved**_ _me? I don't – why didn't he ever_ _ **say anything**_ _?!_ }

"You – you knew?" Harry whispered a few moments later, looking horrified all over again. "You're telling me that you knew all along that you were going to die today? Ever since last August? How did you-?"

Hermione's sanity almost shredded itself after hearing that. It was just too much to take in; the concept that Ron had been waiting so long to die in order to save Fred's life, she literally couldn't imagine what it was like living on borrowed time like that... for heaven's sake, the fragments of this conversation were threatening to drive her completely bonkers...

Bad enough that she had already lost one of her boys, now she was going to lose the other one as well?

{ _No, no, NO!_ }

"None of this will matter anymore? What do you mean?" Harry demanded, looking confused.

{ _Yes, good question,_ } Hermione asked herself, trying to regain control of her emotions; but not succeeding very well. { _Damn it, Ron, I_ _ **wish**_ _I could hear what it is you're actually saying! Why won't you reveal yourself to me?_ }

"You'll stay with me until the end, won't you?"

After hearing that, Hermione straightened up, sensing that the conversation was nearing its conclusion.

"I understand," Harry sighed, before squaring his shoulders and straightening up himself. "Let's get this over with."

{ _Lord help us, but Harry's going to get himself killed because he's a – a Horcrux,_ } Hermione thought numbly to herself, as she followed her friend under cover of the cloak. She then trailed after him, less than two paces behind as Harry followed Dolohov and Yaxley to the clearing where Voldemort's forces had made their camp. { _Harry has to die because of what he is. And he's brave and noble and Gryffindor enough to walk to his own death this way. I've already lost both him and Ron, even if Harry hasn't stopped moving yet..._ }

And during the journey, Hermione asked herself, what was there to live for now that both her friends were dead and gone? Her parents, yes, but they had never really understood her since she was eleven years old; and they didn't remember her anymore, anyway, plus they were safely out of the way in Australia, lacking any clue about the magical world. Viktor Krum, perhaps – but he was just a friend, and merely part of her past now. And while Ron's parents may have loved her like a daughter, under the circumstances, her presence would always be just an aching reminder of the dead son they had lost...

{ _Good thing I brought along that Exploding Fluid,_ } Hermione thought grimly to herself, making up her mind and moving away from Harry. { _Now, to transfigure myself a suicide bomber vest, or some such thing..._ }

When Dolohov and Yaxley joined the circle of followers, Voldemort looked up. "Well?"

"No sign of him, my Lord," Dolohov replied.

"I thought Potter would come," Voldemort replied in his high, cold voice – which gave Hermione chills just hearing it. "I was certain that he would come, to spare his friends' lives. Was I truly mistaken in thinking that?"

"No, you weren't," Harry replied, stepping into view – and immediately, a loud roar broke loose, the Death Eaters shouting, at least fifty wands pointing in his direction.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort shouted, and instantly the cacophony of noise vanished.

Then a male voice yelled: "HARRY! NO!"

Hermione turned: Hagrid was bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as the half-giant struggled, desperate to get loose. "NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH-?"

"QUIET!" Thorfinn Rowle shouted, and with a flick of the Death Eater's wand Hagrid was silenced.

{ _I'm sorry, Hagrid,_ } Hermione briefly closed her eyes. { _I hope you can forgive me for sacrificing your life as well as mine like this, but I'll never get a better opportunity to slay Nagini – and hopefully Voldemort as well. As Dumbledore would say, I need to do what's right, not what's easy..._ }

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said very softly, before his lips curled into a mirthless smirk. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

Hermione waited – any moment now...

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" the inhuman monster cast the Killing Curse, and then Harry was gone. She knew it to be true, even before the corpse had finished falling to the forest floor.

Hermione had expected to hear cheers of triumph and jubilation at her friend's death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air as Voldemort likewise collapsed to the ground. { _What happened? Why did he-?_ }

Bellatrix started saying worriedly, "My Lord. My Lord? My Lord –"

"That will do," Voldemort growled, as he rose to his feet and brushed away the hands of his followers. "The boy – is he dead? You," the evil demon in semi-human form snapped his fingers impatiently, and pointed at Narcissa Malfoy. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead or not."

It took less than ten seconds, which was more than enough time to prepare for Hermione's Last Stand.

"He is dead!" Narcissa called out to everyone.

And now the Death Eaters shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through the cloak, Hermione saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration. It made her want to be sick all over again.

{ _Come on, you evil bastard! You think you've finally won, don't you? So go ahead and do what I want you to,_ _ **Thomas**_ _, show me your arrogance and your belief that you're now invulnerable and immortal... it'll be the last mistake you ever make!_ } Hermione raged to herself, glaring at the bone-white figure in the dark robes.

"HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!" Voldemort yelled exultantly, and with a careless swish and flick of the Elder Wand, he undid the protective charm around Nagini as the huge snake fell to the ground, hissing madly. "You see? Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch while I – NO!"

Too late – Hermione had shucked the invisibility cloak and run straight for Nagini, her witch's robes transfigured into an explosive belt – she wanted her enemies to _**know**_ just how badly their leader had underestimated this particular muggleborn. Casting a "Bombarda maxima!" in the direction of the minions with her wand, Hermione collided with the snake –

Just for a moment, there was a terrible ghastly silence.

Then there was a terrible, ghastly noise.

There followed another terrible, ghastly silence.

Death manifested itself in that devastated, lifeless clearing to retrieve its cloak, stone and wand, reunited for the first time since the thirteenth century.

As foreseen by the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, Death then put forth His will – an extra prophecy appeared in the past –

And then, all that had been up until now – was no longer.

 **TO BE CONCLUDED...**

* * *

 **A/N:** Just wanted to say thanks to everyone for their reviews and feedback so far – and a particular thank you to Guest, for his/her anonymous review. And to answer your question, yes Hermione knows that what she witnessed in chapter 6 was just a 'might have been', but! It's like they're actually there, living the dream – and so, she reacted... emotionally. Anyway, just need to say that part of the text in this chapter comes from chapter 11 and chapter 34 of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows', so – nothing from therein belongs to me. As always, I hope you keep telling me what you think of this fanfic – the big finale is coming up next!


	9. A New Path

**A/N:** As always, I thank my beta readers Greywizard and Bill Haden profusely for all their incredible work on this fic, and I also want to say thanks to everyone for their reviews and feedback throughout the course of this story, in reverse order of appearance they are:

setokayba2n, Celgress, red-jacobson, dancetheplanet, Bountyhunter1977, JanusGodOfPossibilities, Guest, notsing, EmeraldGuardian7, Ant Crown, KyliaQuilor, frisbeeg70, highlander348, duskrider, mobulis, Gja03, RHGroeninga, BajaB, and anyone else I've missed!

Okay, here it is – the big finale. I've been told the previous two chapters were way too depressing, so I put together something that's a bit lighter in nature, but still captures the essence of the tale and ties all the plot points together. Oh, and the Star Wars quote below obviously doesn't belong to me! So without further ado, I present to you...

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: A New Path**

 **St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London**

 **March 1st, 1980**

A rather famous literary muggle once wrote, ' _surely the Emperor couldn't see everything, couldn't know every future, twist every reality to suit his gluttony_.' Basically, what the writer had meant by that was that no one was infallible – and if there was any wizard who knew that right now, it was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

He stood disillusioned and covered from head to toe with various charms for no one to take any notice of him, here in one of the delivery rooms of the magical hospital's birthing wing. He was waiting for the arrival of a male child that had been prophesized to bring about calamity and disaster for the British wizarding world; and so, with a heavy heart, Albus was here to 'deal' with the situation.

{ _If only it didn't have to be two loyal members of the Order who were his parents, that might make it a little easier for me to do this,_ } Albus thought to himself sadly, as he witnessed Molly Weasley scream and groan thanks to her birth pains. { _Then again, 'if only' are two of the saddest words in the English language..._ }

Eventually the mediwizard wearing the lime-green robes – what was his name again, Edward Tonks? Ah, yes; Hufflepuff, prefect, graduated from Hogwarts ten, no, eleven years ago – he told Arthur Weasley, "It won't be long now, she's almost fully dilated –"

" _ **She**_ is right here in this room!" Molly Weasley abruptly yelled, before she started cursing viciously. "And she doesn't appreciate being talked about that way!"

"Sorry, Molly," Edward 'Ted' Tonks apologized, before waving his wand and performing several quick analytical charms. "But as I said, it won't take much longer – your child will soon be joining us. Probably any minute now..."

"She better get here soon, I can't take much more – AGGHHH!" the pregnant woman yelled at the top of her lungs, the birth pain suddenly agonizing for her.

"Now, Molly, we don't know for certain yet that it's a girl," Arthur started to say, in a conciliatory manner.

"It is! It has to be! I've already done this four times, Arthur, I want the daughter you promised me!" Molly screeched, grabbing hold of her husband's hand and squeezing to the point of almost breaking bones.

Arthur Weasley was spared from screaming in agony by Ted's quick spellwork, as the mediwizard smiled at his friend and then positioned himself in front of Molly, standing in between her widespread legs. "That's it! Push, Molly, I can see the head!"

"AHHHHHHH!" the red-haired woman screamed and grunted, attempting to deliver her child.

A few moments later, Ted held the newborn in his arms, still slick with blood and the effluvia of birth. After slapping the baby on the rump and a few quick cleaning and warming charms, the mediwizard presented the crying infant to its father. "Congratulations, Arthur, it's a boy."

"Oh! Mollywobbles, he's beautiful," Arthur said proudly, bringing his son around for his wife to see their latest child – their sixth son.

As soon as Molly heard that, though, she just grunted in despair and threw her head back against the pillow. "Oh, Arthur..."

"Now, Molly, don't be like that," Arthur said chidingly.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm being unfair, I know," Molly replied, looking like she was about to burst into tears. "But I was so hoping... I just wished..."

"There's always next time, dear. However, don't take it out on Ronald, please," Arthur beseeched his wife, before passing the male infant over to her.

"Ronald, you say?" Molly asked vaguely, examining the newborn through the tears still welling in her eyes.

"Say hello to our son, Ronald Bilius Weasley," Arthur said firmly, not liking the fact that his wife wasn't exactly happy about the arrival of their youngest child.

"The name suits him," Molly said half-heartedly, before Albus decided that he had allowed them enough time with their doomed offspring, and sprang into action.

"Confundo! Confundo! Confundo!" the so-called Leader of the Light called out, the Elder Wand in his right hand.

The three adults instantly froze, as the magic took hold of their minds and they grew so confused, they no longer understood what was happening around them. Dumbledore quickly took the youngest Weasley son from Molly's arms, and deposited what appeared to be a dead red-haired infant in its place. "Obliviate! None of you ever saw or heard me, and you all witnessed this stillborn child be birthed by Molly Weasley just now..."

Once the Memory charm was cast, Dumbledore moved back, ready to remove the Confundus charms he'd cast as well –

But the next moment, something happened that Albus wasn't expecting, something that ruined all the plans he'd made to deal with the threat that Ronald Bilius Weasley posed to the British wizarding world.

There was a flash of fire, and a phoenix appeared in the delivery room. Dumbledore's very own familiar, as a matter of fact.

"Fawkes?" Dumbledore said in surprise, clutching his wand in one hand and cradling young Ronald in the other. The Headmaster quickly looked around to check on his three spell victims before he said to the phoenix, "What are you – NO!"

Fawkes was hovering in the air right above the infant, and far too late to stop it, Dumbledore saw his immortal companion had used one of its golden claws to nick open a small wound on its right leg, from which there emerged a single drop of phoenix blood. And it fell...

...directly into young Ronald's mouth, the newborn infant ingesting the red liquid before it began to wail and holler its lungs out.

"I don't know why you did that, Fawkes, but there's no time to discuss it now – you must take the boy to my office at Hogwarts, quickly!" Dumbledore pleaded with the phoenix, who obediently landed upon the infant and then vanished with him, in another burst of golden fire.

"All the best laid plans..." Dumbledore muttered to himself, before removing the Confundus from Ted, Arthur and Molly and exiting the room, before walking out of the hospital and into muggle London. He needed a few moments to think...

The plan to hand over Arthur and Molly's son to Saul Croaker had been utterly ruined now, of course; there was no point in trying to do that blood magic ritual and neutralize the threat the boy posed, according to Sybill Trelawney's prophecy. Not that way, not anymore. The presence of phoenix blood – who could tell what effect that would have, on the dark magicks involved?

Albus knew that he would most likely end up killing the baby if he tried that sort of thing now, and he already had enough blood on his hands. Ariana, Gellert... no, the Greater Good would not be served by the murder of an innocent.

And yet, Sybill's second prophecy during that unforgettable January night refused to leave Dumbledore's thoughts...

{ _The sixth son of the Blood Traitor approaches... born as the third month is born, and marked in both love and death... love for a sibling will be his undoing, and his death will spell doom for the witch who loves him, and the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord... and also the British wizarding world, there shall be complete chaos and destruction in their absence... the sixth son of the Blood Traitor approaches..._ }

Albus decided to return to Hogwarts via one of the slowest ways to get there, to give himself enough time to think of what to do next.

Because he still needed to do _**something**_ ; that prophecy of doom and gloom wasn't going to sod off anytime soon.

* * *

 **Eastern Docks, Port of Dover, Kent**

 **March 10th, 1980**

Mundungus Fletcher wasn't happy about this. Merlin's left buttock, but he wasn't happy about this!

He was a business man, all right? Halfblood, and also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but most of that lot either didn't like him or outright didn't trust him. So what if he occasionally considered his business dealings to be more important than gathering information for the Order? He risked his neck for Dumbledore the same as all the rest of them, didn't he?

Although, son of a bludger, this latest mission Dumbledore had sent him on – it was ridiculous! After all, travelling to Calais the muggle way, with this ginger-haired infant who couldn't be more than a few weeks old? Why would Dumbledore have deliberately ordered him not to leave the country with a simple long-distance portkey?

{ _Because it feels as if I stick out like a niffler at a hippogriff party,_ } Dung grumbled to himself, having noticed that people were staring at him in confusion, despite how he'd already ditched his wizarding robes (on Dumbledore's orders). { _Do muggles not wear overcoats, then?_ }

The little tyke started to carry on and cry a bit, so Mundungus quickly calmed down the infant he was carrying, and the passengers queuing up to board the passenger ferry to Calais eventually lost interest in them. Then Mundungus thought about Dumbledore's orders, yet again:

{ _Take the boy to a muggle orphanage as far away from Britain as you can, and leave him there. Allow no one from our world to see you, or him, until you have placed the child with his new carers. Obliviate anyone as necessary, if you must, and then return to Hogsmeade. I will contact you for your next assignment then._ }

{ _Wonder who your mum and dad are, then, that Dumbledore's having me do this for you?_ } Mundungus asked himself, examining the baby carefully – and not for the first time. { _Well, whoever your parents are, or were, I hope you enjoy living life as a Frenchie..._ }

Just as the queue moved forward and Mundungus was about to board the ferry, there was an explosive _**crack**_! And then, it all went tits up, of course –

"DUNG FLETCHER!" the wizard nicknamed Warty Harris shouted, ignoring all the panicking and screaming muggles around them. There was a definite slur in his voice as he ranted, "Leavin' the country, are you? Without handin' over the dosh ya owe me first? I'll make ya _**bleed**_ fer that!"

Mundungus instantly started running as fast as his short, bandy legs could carry him, barely managing to dodge the other wizard's spell fire by using the muggles for cover as he ran. He couldn't apparate, not with an infant – he was hopeless at side-along apparition, and Dumbledore had warned him not to harm his human cargo in any way. He could only hope that Harris would have sense enough to give up and flee, before the Aurors and the Obliviators showed up –

Unfortunately, he didn't – and the drunken fool was quickly taken down by a Stunner, the nearest red-robed Auror yelling "Stupefy!" and causing the muggles to scream even louder in fear and confusion.

"Fletcher! Stay where you are!" the Auror's partner yelled out as Mundungus stopped running, it was a familiar-looking bloke – even though he was pointing his wand like he wanted to use it at any moment. "You – what are you doing here with a baby?!"

"Auror Longbottom, heh-heh," Mundungus grinned nervously, as the Obliviators showed up and started erasing the memory of what had just happened from the muggles. He waited until the magical copper came up close and asked, "D'ya mind if I calls ya Frank?"

"Yes I do, Fletcher. I don't like you – and besides, this isn't a meeting of the Order," Longbottom hissed, briefly looking around to make sure he wasn't overheard. "Now, what are you up to with the sprog?"

"Was on me way ta France when that idiot Harris went 'n caused that ruckus, di'n' he?" Mundungus tried to sound honest and helpful. "Honest, Frank, I di'n' do anyfink wrong!"

"You must have done _**something**_ , Fletcher, and I told you not to call me that," Longbottom semi-growled. "And the baby?"

"Orphan," Mundungus quickly lied, knowing that he couldn't tell Longbottom the truth – Dumbledore had impressed the need for utter secrecy on him with regards to his current mission, and might severely punish him if he disobeyed orders – even if it was confiding in a fellow member of the Order. "Was takin' care o' him, see, s'pose I shoulda contacted the Wizardin' Orphan Office – but ya know 'ow ruddy busy they are, You-Know-Who's been killin' off fam'lies left 'n right lately –"

"So you decided to take an orphan with you to magical France, instead? The muggle way? Now, Fletcher, why don't I believe you?" Longbottom demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"'Ere, now, it's the truth!" Mundungus spoke rapidly, starting to panic. "I swear on me mother's grave – Merlin forbid anythin' should 'appen to her," he added in the qualifier rapidly.

"All right, Fletcher, listen to me – there's two options available to you. One, I take you with me to the Ministry right now, and we pour veritaserum into you on suspicion of kidnapping and child trafficking. I think we both know that even if you're innocent of that, we'll still find out plenty of things that'll send you to Azkaban – for at least six months, probably more," Longbottom said coldly.

"And, err, the sec'nd option?" Mundungus gulped in fear.

"Give me the baby right now, and disappear. Go back to your normal haunts, and start doing your job for Albus and the Order properly," Frank said, with a hint of distaste. "Your choice, Fletcher. And you've got five seconds to decide."

Oddly enough, it took Mundungus less than an instant to make his decision. May as well as be hanged for a dragon as an egg, after all; plus he couldn't afford to be taken into custody, and let Dumbledore become aware of just how badly this mission had gone. { _No point crying over spilled potion – just got to make the best of things, same as I've been doing my entire life!_ }

"Alrigh', fine, 'ere 'e is," Dung grumbled, handing over the baby, and working up the nerve to say the next part. "But I needs ya ta do me a favor, Frank."

"I told you, don't call me that! And what do you want?" Longbottom snapped.

"Obliviate me," Mundungus said simply. "Don't wanna remember you, or any o' this, do I? Just make me fink that I went 'n dropped off the kid at some orphanage in, I dunno, south o' France – reckon that Avignon place'll do, went there once 'n all –"

"Why? I mean, why don't you want to remember the truth?" Longbottom interrupted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously again. "Fletcher, what in Merlin's name have you gone and gotten yourself involved in?"

"Can't answer that, Frank, 'n I reckon Dumbledore won't be 'appy if he finds out ya asked," Mundungus shrugged. "So, wha'll it be?"

Longbottom hesitated, one hand holding the baby to his chest and the other one still gripping his wand tightly. Mundungus looked around – the Obliviators had almost finished cleaning up the mess Warty Harris had caused, there wasn't much time left if he had to do a runner, if Frank decided not to help him out –

"Obliviate! You..."

And just like that, even before Longbottom had finished talking – Albus Dumbledore completely lost track of the one and only Ronald Bilius Weasley.

* * *

 **115 Lower Hamilton Road, Kingston Upon Thames, southwest London**

 **May 15th, 1980**

That evening, as Ted Tonks looked at his wife Andromeda and seven-year-old daughter Nymphadora, he wondered if he should keep his mouth shut – or else finally ask the question he'd been wanting to ask for nearly a week now.

It had all started back in March, that _**disaster**_ with the death of the latest Weasley child to be born. An investigation had begun into what exactly had happened, as the parents were both purebloods (even though Ted had heard the words 'blood traitors' muttered by one of the Healers in question, followed by a rather cold and dismissive look) and certain elements at the Ministry had wanted answers. And even though neither Molly nor Arthur had blamed him for what had happened, it had still caused something of an uproar in certain circles – those which cared about blood status more than anything else, of course.

Quite honestly, the events of that morning still haunted Ted to this very day. How, _**how**_ had he not known anything was wrong until the very last moment? Ted had proof enough to convince everyone (even himself) that he had followed all the proper procedures, cast all the correct diagnostic spells, monitored both the child and the mother carefully – everything he had done, it should have resulted in a normal, healthy birth!

Instead, it had resulted in nothing but an infant's corpse and two traumatized parents, who had to somehow still be there for their other five children; the oldest of which was actually able to understand what had happened, given he would be of Hogwarts age in a couple of years' time.

Ted had cooperated with the inquiry completely, of course, testifying under veritaserum before the hospital board and certain members of the Ministry about what had happened, in addition to presenting his wand as evidence – and so, he had been cleared of any suspicion of incompetence or malfeasance almost immediately. And in the end, the Healers and the Ministry investigators concluded that the baby's death must have been due to an unfortunate last-moment magical accident of some sort, thanks to all the stress the mother's body had been under – even though learning that didn't give Ted any comfort, any more than it did Arthur and Molly Weasley.

In any case, after the investigation was over, Ted had tried to put the whole terrible business behind him; his own family needed him to be strong, after all, the war that had been started by You-Know-Who a few years ago was getting worse. A lot worse. And it wasn't as if they could call on anyone for magical assistance and protection; he was an only child, and his parents were both muggles. His wife's family – former family – wasn't willing to provide them any succor, either; in fact, the Blacks were more likely to help the Death Eaters kill them...

Maybe that was why, when Auror Longbottom had arrived in St Mungo's with an orphan that looked so much like the late Ronald Weasley it hurt, he had volunteered to examine the infant and confirm that it was indeed a magical child. And after discussing it with his wife and liaising with the Wizarding Orphan Office, he'd arranged to temporarily take the baby into his own home...

His colleagues had warned him against it, citing the need for professional detachment and prophesizing that the longer he looked after the child, the harder it would be to give up custody to someone else. But Ted had ignored their advice, because... well, because his beloved Dora was an only child, and for nearly a year, she had been asking when she was going to have a sibling. She was too young to understand how much that question hurt both her parents, how much it hurt that 'Dromeda couldn't have another child...

{ _I just need to find out if my wife is willing to make it permanent, if she's willing for us to adopt the boy._ }

"Sorry, mum!" Dora apologized, after dropping a plate in the kitchen and it had smashed into a hundred pieces. Her hair turning pink in embarrassment, the little girl added, "Ugh, I don't know why I'm so clumsy!"

"It might be because you're a metamorphagus, darling," 'Dromeda smiled, before casting the Reparo charm and fixing the mess. "Always switching back and forth between different bodies, it's bound to get confusing at times."

"Dora, m'dear, could you possibly give your mother and I some privacy? We have something to discuss – alone," Ted spoke up, coming close and holding the orphan boy in his arms.

"Is it about me?" Dora asked fearfully and innocently, the way only a child could.

"No, it's not about you, it's about something else. Now off you trot, go on," Ted told her with a smile.

"That girl," his wife snorted with a small smile, once their daughter had left. "Nymphadora is going to be the death of me before she eventually grows up, I swear! Oh, Ted, give the baby to me," 'Dromeda then ordered him imperiously, hints of her pureblood upbringing showing themselves in her tone. "Can't you tell his nappy needs to be changed?"

{ _How do some women simply_ _ **know**_ _that way?_ } Ted asked himself in sheer amazement, when it turned out that his wife was right – the boy's nappy did need to be changed immediately. { _Ah, well, if even the greatest minds of history have never been able to figure women out, why should I be ashamed that I can't do it either?_ }

"There, now, all better. Oooh, aren't you a good boy?" 'Dromeda smiled at the infant tenderly, before placing him in his high chair. "So, Ted, what did you want to discuss?"

"Well, I think you already know, love. We both know you're much smarter than me, after all," Ted smiled, somewhat nervously.

His wife's look of amusement vanished, and 'Dromeda quickly became all business. "You want to make it official, don't you? Adopt him as our son, once and for all?"

"The WOO is willing to sign the parchmentwork, if we are," Ted replied neutrally. "There are so many orphans nowadays, and most of them hurt or wounded, that they're pushing for anyone who's willing to take a child in –"

"Ted. Answer my question," 'Dromeda cut him off. "Yes or no?"

He took a deep breath and said simply, "Yes. We've both come to love him as our own, and Dora already thinks of him as her little brother. I know you've always wanted another one, and I..."

"What?" his wife asked curiously, as he trailed off.

"Well, not wanting to sound like a complete toff – err, muggle word, it means a member of the rich upperclass or aristocracy," Ted hastily explained himself at his wife's look of obvious confusion, "but, well, I was thinking – one day, Dora's going to grow up and get married and take her husband's name, isn't she? And – I just thought it'd be good if the Tonks name didn't die with me, you know? I know it sounds like I'm being a –"

"A good Head of House Tonks," 'Dromeda interrupted, an admiring look briefly appearing on her face. "Darling, I understand – and what's more, I approve! And yes, before you ask, I want to adopt him as well. And he'll need a name – we can't keep calling him 'the baby.' Any ideas?"

"Ronald Cygnus Tonks," Ted replied without hesitation, having already thought about it a great deal before now.

"Ronald I can understand, I know that the death of that Weasley baby still troubles you, but Cygnus – for my father?" 'Dromeda looked shocked.

"Yes, love, because I know how close you and he were before you married me, and your parents disowned you – for sneaking off behind their backs and not marrying a proper pureblood, like your sisters," Ted said sympathetically. "Who knows? Maybe your father will want to reconcile with you and meet his grandson and namesake one day, once he hears the news."

Overcome with emotion, the former daughter of Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hugged her husband and kissed him in gratitude and understanding. "Maybe, but I doubt it..."

* * *

 **London branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Diagon Alley**

 **June 21** **st** **, 1980**

Andromeda Black Tonks (though she couldn't actually claim that maiden name anymore) was feeling rather concerned. Not so much about the blood adoption ritual – but the fact that she didn't know whether or not her father would be showing up today, and if he did, how she would handle it.

{ _With your head held high and like a Black, girl,_ } Andromeda could practically hear her mother's voice in her head, chiding and irascible as ever. { _The odds are he won't come, but if he does – treat him like he treats you. You have nothing to lose, after all._ }

{ _Well, no, that isn't quite true,_ } Andromeda admitted to herself, as Ted spoke with their goblin representative – Bogrod, she believed his name was. If her father was of a mind to make things difficult for her and her family, Cygnus Black could certainly do it...

"Mum, how much longer is it going to be?" Nymphadora complained, the little girl obviously having grown bored.

"Nymphadora," Andromeda said warningly. "We're in public, so be on your best behavior, understand? No whining, no tantrums and most especially, no morphing into any of the guests! I'll paddle your backside once we get home if you do, understand?"

"Yes, mum," her daughter nodded. "But pretty soon, I'll be able to change my bum so that that won't have any effect, I really will!"

{ _Yes, unfortunately, she will,_ } Andromeda sighed to herself, shifting Ronald around in her arms. { _Being a metamorphagus means that Nymphadora will have to be punished some other way, when she misbehaves. Ah, well, I wasn't a Slytherin for nothing – I'm sure I'll be able to come up with something... creative._ }

"Are we late?" a familiar male voice asked rather nervously, as a number of people started to enter into the room. Her cousin Sirius then said, "Sorry, Andi, it was just one of those things..."

"Yes, if you count chatting up one of my friends in the hopes of shagging her 'one of those things'," Lily Potter, who looked to be roughly eight months pregnant, interjected, as she waddled into the room with her husband James's help. "Honestly, Sirius, when are you going to realize that Marlene just isn't interested?"

"Probably around the time he gets nominated for _Witch Weekly's_ Most Eligible Bachelor award," Remus Lupin hypothesized, the thin, scar-faced youth smirking at his friend.

"And don't laugh, that might actually happen," Peter Pettigrew hypothesized, his small watery eyes growing wide at the thought. "Oh! Hello, Mrs. Tonks."

"Mr. Pettigrew. Mr. Lupin. Mr. and Mrs. Potter," Andrew nodded to them all politely. "I wasn't aware Sirius would be bringing you all today."

"Oh, come now, Andi – how I could _**not**_ bring them?" Sirius gestured grandly. "Moony was utterly thrilled at the chance of being able to observe something like this ritual in person, Prongs and Mrs. Prongs and Prongslet had to come to Gringotts anyway for a meeting with their vault manager, and we never go anywhere without Wormtail! Isn't that right, Wormy?"

"Yeah, Padfoot, I guess so," Pettigrew smiled, even though there was something about that smile that troubled Andromeda – she wasn't sure what, though. { _Dislike? Envy?_ }

"Uncle Sirius? You came!" Nymphadora said excitedly, after running over from the other side of the room, and she quickly jumped into her cousin's arms. "I knew you would! I just knew it!"

"Well, naturally, 'Dorable Dora," Sirius smirked at her, as he gave the little girl a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. "How's my favorite little cousin doing?"

"Okay! Because today's the day I'm finally getting Ronnie as my new brother!" Nymphadora said excitedly. Then the girl asked her, "Mum, why did we have to wait so long? You and Dad decided to adopt him _**weeks**_ ago!"

"You know why, Nymphadora," Andromeda replied with a hint of exasperation. "We had to wait for the summer solstice –"

"But why? What's so special about today?" Nymphadora pouted.

"Sympathetic magic," Peter spoke up, as everyone turned to look at him curiously. "Um, that is to say – wait, Moony, you're the smart one, you can explain it all better than I can..."

"Bugger that, he'll talk for an hour and still not get to the point!" Sirius interrupted, before Remus could even open his mouth. "Listen, Morphy –"

"Don't call her that, Sirius," Andromeda immediately scowled at her cousin, as Nymphadora mouthed the word 'Morphy?' to herself. "Or you can turn around and leave, right now!"

"She's got a point, you know," Lily said disapprovingly. "Those ridiculous nicknames you four came up with at Hogwarts, you can keep them to yourselves. I swear, Sirius, the first time you call my son 'Prongslet' directly to his face? I'll hex you, good and proper!"

"Now that's just unfair, Lils!" Sirius protested, somewhat overdramatically. Then he turned to face his best friend, "Aren't you going to defend me?"

"Not if it means going against my wife, Pads," James shook his head at once, sliding an arm around Lily to support her. "Besides. I still think you came up with _**my**_ Marauder name just because it rhymes with thongs and bongs and –"

"I want to be 'Tonks'," Nymphadora suddenly spoke up, her prepubescent face looking strong and determined. "That's my new name, the same way 'Padfoot' is Uncle Sirius's!"

"Really, Nymphadora –" Andromeda started to say dismissively.

"It's TONKS!" the little girl said insistently, her hair cycling through brown to pink and then red.

"Well, I for one approve!" Sirius said heartily, as just about everyone rolled their eyes at hearing that. "Welcome, oh Tonks, to the ranks of hononary Marauders!"

"And what 'Marauders' are these, boy?" another male voice, old and somewhat disapproving, said from the doorway to the room.

Apart from Ted and Bogrod, who were still discussing things over on the other side of the room, everyone went quiet as the old man walked into the room. He was in his late seventies or early eighties, but he was wearing expensive dragonhide robes and gave off an aura of great magical power, and his face –

{ _Great-Uncle Arcturus. The Head of House Black,_ } Andromeda thought to herself nervously. { _What's_ _ **he**_ _doing here?_ }

"I asked you a question, grandson," Arcturus frowned at Sirius. "And as my Heir, I expect you to answer –"

"Me? The Black Heir? That's ridiculous!" Sirius suddenly found his voice, the contempt suddenly oozing from his pores. "I was disowned when I was sixteen, Grandfather, you _**know**_ that! Mother was utterly gleeful in her Howler –"

"Your brother Regulus is dead, thanks to his own folly – and your mother pushing him to his unfortunate fate," Arcturus interrupted, the words causing Sirius to instantly shut up. "Your father Orion is dead as well. Likewise, your Uncle Alphard. The previous generation produced no other male heirs; and Cygnus only had two – no, three daughters..." He then paused, and finally looked at her directly, "Andromeda."

"Mr. Black." At his raised eyebrows she elaborated, "Given that I was formally disowned by the people I used to call my parents, it would presumptuous to address the Head of my former House as anything else."

Her great-uncle nodded – maybe in approval, she couldn't tell – and then Arcturus shifted his attention to James. "Potter. My condolences on the deaths of your parents last year – I knew Fleamont and Euphemia for nearly six decades, they were good people. Even if they were somewhat entrenched in their pro-Dumbledore viewpoints."

"Thank you for your condolences, Mr. Black," James curled his arm around Lily protectively. "Now, what's all this about Sirius being your Heir again? As the Head of House Potter, I can confirm that my father's decision to take Sirius in as a member of our House still stands. And I can't believe for a moment that Sirius's mother would accept –"

"That mad little witch has no say in this," Arcturus cut him off at once. "Walburga has already done enough damage to my House. That's why she's been stripped of any authority in House Black affairs and confined to her home at Grimmauld Place, with only her personal elf to attend to her needs."

"Kreacher?" Sirius suddenly smirked. "Ha! Couldn't have happened to a nicer house elf!"

"Be that as it may, _**you**_ are now the future of House Black, boy," Arcturus lectured his grandson. "You need to marry and produce your own Heir, there is no one else –"

"Can't you do a blood adoption ritual, though? Like my parents are going to do with Ronnie?" Nymphadora suddenly asked, injecting herself into the conversation with a puzzled look on her face, her hair turning back into its normal brown color.

"Not likely, Tonks," Sirius answered her with a smile. "Toujours Pur, and all that."

"Indeed. The Black line will always be pure," Arcturus nodded. "Blood adoption is a resort of last choice – although I am willing to consider it, if my grandson proves himself to be infertile."

"Me? Infertile? Oh, now, I'm insulted!" Sirius said facetiously. "I could have had nearly half a dozen kids by this point, you know, all those girls I took up to the Astronomy Tower when we were back at Hogwarts!"

"Be that as it may, I'd like to ask why exactly you're here, Mr. Black?" Andromeda asked, not wanting to hear about her cousin's (most likely fictional) attempts to sire a child. "My invitation to my former family to attend this event did not dare presume to include you."

"You should have been born a boy, Andromeda, I'd have declared you the Black Heir and prevented your parents from ever disowning you," Arcturus nodded approvingly. "And I came here not only to speak to Sirius in a setting where he can't act like a spoiled brat, to inform him of his new family duties – but I also wanted to indulge my curiosity about this boy you're adopting, after Cygnus complained to me about you having the cheek to give the child his name and to invite him to this 'disgusting ceremony', to quote his words precisely."

{ _I should have known,_ } Andromeda thought to herself, wanting to shut her eyes in pain but refusing to do so in front of this man. { _I'm sorry, Ted, but I did warn you that this was how my father –_ _ **former**_ _father – would most likely act. Well, so be it – I have no father, in spirit as well as in name!_ }

"I don't understand, what's disgusting about this? I mean, I'm getting a new brother! Aren't I? How can that be wrong?" Nymphadora looked very confused and upset.

"It's not wrong," Lily spoke up, as everyone turned to look at her. "Adoption is very common in the muggle world, Nymphadora, but not so much the magical one. Because bloodlines tend to be something that the more... hidebound members of wizarding society get rather prickly about, you see."

Arcturus opened his mouth to say something, before he hesitated and merely said, "True enough. And for good reason – for example, there hasn't been a metamorphagus born to any member of the Black family in decades –"

"But I'm not a Black, I'm a Tonks," Nymphadora interrupted in confusion. "And what's wrong with being a metamorphagus?"

"Nothing," Remus instantly spoke up.

"Just like there's nothing wrong with being a werewolf, as long as you take all the right precautions," Lily added, staring at Arcturus as if daring him to deny it.

"Um, Mr. Black, would you care to take a seat? Mr. Tonks and the goblin seem to have finished, they're coming this way," Peter said nervously, grabbing a nearby chair and obsequiously offering it to the Head of House Black.

{ _He's smarter than I thought,_ } Andromeda nodded to herself, acknowledging that the young man's actions quickly defused what might have become a tense moment as Ted and Bogrod joined the group. { _It seems there's a valid reason why my cousin includes Pettigrew in his inner circle of friends, after all._ }

"Are there any questions before we proceed?" the goblin asked in a curt, no-nonsense tone as Ted levitated a small golden bowl onto the table.

"A quick summary of the process first would be most appreciated," Remus answered eagerly, the former prefect's desire for knowledge easily visible for everyone to see.

Bogrod stared at him for a moment. Then he stated, "The adoptive father will shed blood into the ritual bowl, and pronounce the adoption oath. The adoptive mother will do likewise. Their blood will then be mixed with that of the child. That is all."

"You oversimplify things a great deal, goblin," Arcturus spoke from his chair. "I hope for your sake that you carry out your financial duties with a bit more care to detail."

"Of course, Mr. Black," Bogrod nodded, even though Andromeda could tell the creature was almost seething with anger. "However, time is gold, and as an uninvited guest, I must ask you to bear with me as we undertake the ritual."

{ _Clever, imaginative goblin,_ } Andromeda inwardly smirked as everyone sat down in their chairs, and Arcturus glowered at Bogrod. { _Barest civility on the one hand, and veiled insult with the other. No wonder we're due for another goblin rebellion soon, once the civil war ends!_ }

"Libellus magicus," Ted said before he tapped the bowl with his wand, and silver sparkles erupted out of it. Bogrod handed him a silver goblin knife and Andromeda's husband cut his palm with it, allowing his blood to drip into the bowl. Then he spoke the oath, "I, Edward Tonks of the House of Tonks, take thee, Ronald Cygnus Tonks as my son, by blood, by magic, by law and by this oath. So I have sworn; so mote it be." He then healed the cut on his hand using his wand, and took Ronald into his arms, as Andromeda stepped up to join him.

She took Bogrod's knife and added her own blood into the bowl. "I, Andromeda Tonks of the House of Tonks, and formerly of the House of Black, take thee, Ronald Cygnus Tonks as my son, by blood, by magic, by law and by this oath. So I have sworn; so mote it be."

She noticed that everyone was watching the ritual in silent interest and/or fascination, even her great-uncle. Andromeda then healed her own cut, and accepted the baby back from her husband as Bogrod said, "These vows have been witnessed by me, Bogrod of Gringotts, according to the Wizard-Goblin Treaty of 1752." He held his hand over the golden bowl, and it briefly glowed thanks to a dose of goblin magic – which was very different to wizarding magic, Andromeda knew. "The parents will now present the infant which is to be blood adopted."

Andromeda and Ted both stepped forward and Bogrod said to them, "I am obligated to ask; are you aware that this ritual, once completed, cannot be undone? If you do this, then from this day forward, the child will be your son, by law, by blood and by – wizard and goblin magic," he finished up with a small frown.

"We are," Ted answered for both of them.

"And you swear to enter into this adoption knowingly and of your own free will, as stipulated by the relevant Wizengamot statute of 1953?" Bogrod asked again.

"We do," Andromeda answered this time.

"Then mix the child's blood and magic with your own, and confirm the new status of the wizard henceforth known as Ronald Cygnus Tonks," Bogrod said simply, stepping back to give her and Ted enough room to finish the rite.

Andromeda noticed everyone eagerly staring at them, and briefly wished she'd insisted that Sirius come alone, before dismissing that thought. "Shall I do it, darling?"

"May as well," Ted smiled at her. "I know it's not the same as birthing him yourself, love – but it comes close, I must say. Our blood shall be his, and his shall be ours – and that's what's important, right?"

"For a muggleborn, you seem remarkably well informed," Arcturus nodded approvingly.

"Thanks. Well, I did try my best to learn about the new culture and attempt to fit in as much as possible, while I was at Hogwarts," Ted told the old man. "One of the reasons I got accepted as a mediwizard at St Mungo's, I suppose."

"Dad's the best!" Nymphadora called out, making Andromeda smile. "He'll be able to heal Ronnie of anything, once he starts growing up like me!"

"Thank you, Nymphadora; but that's enough, please," Andromeda told her fondly. "And now – welcome to the family, Ronald."

She took the silver knife and made a small cut on the baby's right thumb. Immediately, Ronald woke up and started shrieking – but ignoring that, Andromeda dipped his hand into the bowl of blood, magically sealing her claim and Ted's over the boy's blood and magic.

But that was when something unexpected happened.

A silver mist rose up out of the bowl, and then abruptly morphed into the image of a – a phoenix, it looked like. It was hard to tell. Concerned, Andromeda immediately stepped back and pulled Ronald away, but it was too late – the silver magic rushed into the baby before she could do anything to prevent it.

"What's happening?", "Is this supposed to happen?", and "Merlin's beard!" were some of the cries that issued forth from the guests for the adoption ritual, as everyone other than Arcturus Black surged up from their chairs.

Andromeda ignored them all and said demandingly, "Bogrod! What's going on? This isn't normal, is it?"

"Indeed not, Mrs. Tonks. That shouldn't have happened!" The goblin rushed over and examined the bowl. "As I thought, the ritual bowl hasn't been tampered with, but –"

"LOOK AT THAT!" Nymphadora cried out, after a flash of golden fire appeared and a real phoenix manifested itself. The crimson bird then began to sing its unearthly song, eerie and spine-tingling; it lifted the hair on everyone's scalp, as Arcturus finally scrambled up off his chair.

"Fascinating," he said, looking excited. "Andromeda, place your son on the table. Quickly!"

"Why-?" Ted started to ask, but she had already obeyed her great-uncle's orders.

And not a moment too soon, as golden flames erupted out of the baby's hands – just as the phoenix flew a circle around him, still crooning its inhumanly beautiful song.

"Bloody hell, what-?" Ted said, looking astonished and bewildered at what was happening to his son.

"That, that can't possibly be normal," James spoke up, looking amazed at how the baby appeared to remain unharmed.

"It isn't," Lily nodded. "Care of Magical Creatures was never my strongest subject, but I'm _**sure**_ that isn't normal phoenix behavior!"

"Bugger the phoenix – there are _**flames**_ coming out of that kid's hands!" Peter yelped, confused and concerned. " _ **That's**_ what isn't normal behavior!"

"You're right, it isn't," Remus looked flabbergasted by everything that happened.

"Congratulations, Ted and Andi; that's one unusual boy you've got there!" Sirius suddenly cheered.

"What about me? I'm a metamorphagus!" Nymphadora protested, but then she smiled. "Oh! We're both unusual, aren't we? I can change shape, and Ronnie can make fire! He really is a Tonks now!"

At that moment, the phoenix stopped singing, and vanished with another burst of golden fire. The flames instantly vanished from the baby's hands, as Ron calmed down and started gurgling, his chubby little arms reaching for his mother.

"Oh! He's hungry, I can tell," Andromeda said knowingly, grabbing her son and cuddling him protectively.

Ted quickly examined Ronald and satisfied himself that the infant was unharmed, before exhaling in relief. "Bogrod, is there somewhere we can go so that my wife can feed our son properly?"

"Of course, Mr. Tonks, Mrs. Tonks, come with me –" Bogrod started to say eagerly.

"HOLD!" Arcturus suddenly shouted. "Before you go anywhere, goblin, I want a vow from you. Swear on your life and magic that you will reveal nothing of what has transpired here to anyone, or to any creature; that you will keep secret the fact that the Tonks boy is a pyromagus!"

"A what?" Nymphadora asked in confusion, staring at her new baby brother.

"A pyromagus? There hasn't been one of those in, what, at least... two, maybe three centuries?" Sirius asked dazedly, staring at Ronald in astonishment.

"Mr. Tonks, are you _**sure**_ you don't have any magical ancestry?" Peter asked in amazement. "Because –"

"Because what, Peter? Are you suggesting that muggleborns are lesser wizards and witches than halfbloods, or purebloods?" Lily abruptly glared at him, her hand resting protectively over her belly as she suddenly groaned in pain, her unborn son kicking her unexpectedly.

(Far away in Crawley, the toddler named Hermione Jean Granger started to cry as well, even though her dentist parents assumed it was because she didn't like the new formula milk they had decided to try out today.)

(Within the Department of Mysteries, a prophecy orb went dark, as the subject of its prediction had vanished from existence.)

(And over at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities – not yet hidden by Walburga Black's portrait – likewise vanished from existence, its ultimate purpose as foreseen and designed by Frugoldus Weasley fulfilled at last.)

"You alright? And I don't think that's what Wormtail is suggesting at all, love," James told his wife comfortingly, taking one of her hands into his.

"Yeah, it's just – unusual, seeing a muggleborn and a pureblood produce such magically powerful kids," Sirius started to grin. "Bloody hell, but Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella were obviously complete fools, disowning Andi the way they did! I mean, if the combination of Black blood and Tonks blood can produce the first pyromagus in centuries, as well as a metamorphagus –"

"Indeed, but that is a subject for later, grandson. Now, goblin, your vow," Arcturus interrupted, staring at Bogrod.

"And if I refuse?" the goblin in question demanded.

"Then you won't leave this room alive," the Head of House Black promised him with a scowl.

"Wars have been started between my kind and yours over lesser threats, wizard!" Bogrod abruptly snarled at Arcturus. "If you think –"

"Obliviate!" Remus abruptly drew his wand and cast the Memory Charm on the goblin, who stiffened in shock. "You remember nothing unusual happening in the blood adoption ritual just now. And the last thing you remember is Mr. Tonks requesting a private room for Mrs. Tonks to feed her son, after the ritual was over!"

Everyone could see the goblin fight against it, but in the end he lost the battle and the mind magicks took hold. A bored expression appeared on his face as Bogrod said, "Right this way, Mrs. Tonks."

"Ted, Nymphadora. Let's go," she nodded to her husband and daughter, as the Tonks family closed ranks and started to leave the room.

Andromeda had no idea that in another world, Luna Lovegood – someone who wouldn't even be born until next February, here and now – she would have started dancing in delight at Ron's inner heliopath having _**finally**_ been unleashed...

* * *

 **Platform 9 and 3/4, Kings Cross Station, London**

 **September 1st, 1991**

{ _How quickly they grow up,_ } Andromeda thought musingly, as she and Ted escorted their son to the Hogwarts Express. _{ It was barely a few months ago that Nymphadora finally finished her schooling at Hogwarts, and now Ronald's starting his first year there? Swing out the old and swing in the new, so to speak..._ }

Andromeda glanced at the eleven-year-old boy; he was tall and somewhat well-built for his age, which was the product of good food and plenty of exercise (as a Healer, Ted had insisted on it). Ronald's hair had turned out a rather odd shade of dark auburn, neither red nor brown but somewhere in between; his eyes were blue-green; and there was no sign of any freckles, either. His nose was the oddest part of him; it was aquiline in shape, utterly unlike either hers or Ted's.

{ _Well, I suppose it's possible that part of him might not have been affected by the blood adoption ritual,_ } Andromeda mused, as Ronald spotted his friend Harry Potter and raced off to greet him. { _Still, as long as Ronald's healthy and in good spirits, that's the important thing. And as long as he doesn't burn Hogwarts down to the ground during the next year or so, as well..._ }

Frowning, Andromeda thought back to those initial chaotic days after the blood adoption, how fire had erupted out of the boy's hands at random intervals and it had taken a while for them to adjust. Plus there was the fact that Ronald had almost become a... a bargaining chip, in the negotiations between House Black and House Tonks. A negotiation for an alliance between the two Houses, and reinstatement for her into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black – if she wanted it, of course.

The secret of her son's powers had been kept secret, though, and so her former parents had become so incensed by the negotiations with Great-Uncle Arcturus, Cygnus and Druella Black had raised such a fuss... that both of them had earned themselves the same punishment as Aunt Walburga. Namely, being imprisoned in their own home, with only a house elf to meet their needs. It was ironic how being disowned seemed like a far lesser punishment, in comparison!

In any case, less than a month later, Lily Potter had given birth to her and James' son – Harry Potter, or 'Prongslet' as Sirius had insisted on calling him (and true to her word, Lily had hexed the new Black Heir very painfully for doing that). Maybe it was better that her cousin hadn't been named godfather to the Potter Heir, like had originally been the plan; she and Ted had already asked Sirius to be Ronald's godfather, and so Peter Pettigrew had been chosen instead. Given that Remus Lupin, a registered werewolf, would have been stripped of all rights by the bigots at the Ministry if Harry's parents died.

Apparently Pettigrew had stammered in disbelief for nearly thirty seconds, before smiling widely and saying it was a great honor, and of course he would accept –

{ _That poor man,_ } Andromeda mused to herself, recalling Peter's gruesome fate roughly sixteen months after the adoption. Apparently the Potters had gone into hiding using the Fidelius charm, and had used Harry's godfather as the Secret Keeper; but Pettigrew had been found by the Death Eaters, and _**brutally**_ tortured to give up the secret of their location.

A few years ago, her cousin had gotten somewhat drunk and revealed to her that he had seen Peter's mutilated body, the same night James and Lily had been murdered. It had been enough to give him nightmares, Sirius had said, and Andromeda knew he might have done something stupid if he hadn't discovered it was his own cousin – Andromeda's sister, Bellatrix – who had done the vile deed.

Instead, Sirius had gone straight to Potter Cottage and retrieved Harry from the ruins of the house, dropping him off at the Tonks residence before gathering Remus Lupin and Frank and Alice Longbottom and a few others to go on a... a hunting expedition, for want of a better description. One that Bellatrix and her husband and her brother-in-law and Bartemius Crouch junior hadn't survived, apparently.

Andromeda hadn't protested against Bellatrix's assassination, even if she had grieved in private. It was unfortunate, but her older sister had been dead to her by that point, in more ways than one – just like her other sister, Narcissa, who had been smart enough to grab her own husband and son and head for wizarding France before Sirius found them, where the Malfoys still remained to this day.

It was likewise unfortunate that Albus bloody Dumbledore had tried to stick his overly-large nose into their family affairs, afterwards. He had shown up at the house on Lower Hamilton Road wanting to take custody of Harry, and it had taken quite a while before he had given up and left, when it became obvious she wasn't going to let him into the house – not willingly, anyway. But that hadn't been the end of it, oh no –

That whole Boy-Who-Lived mania had started, and Dumbledore had petitioned for custody of the Potter orphan. Andromeda couldn't understand what the old man had been thinking – what did _**he**_ know about raising a toddler, and with three jobs – Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W., Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts – he wouldn't have had time to do it, anyway! Still, it was a good thing Sirius had had a copy of the Potters' will, or else Dumbledore might have succeeded – in the end, with the backing of Great-Uncle Arcturus her cousin had been granted custody of Harry, and luckily, Sirius had listened to Ted and herself when they had told him not to do _**anything**_ Dumbledore 'suggested' for him to do.

Especially when it was revealed that Dumbledore wanted Lily's magic-hating sister Petunia, and her ignorant muggle husband, to raise the boy! Andromeda couldn't think of a worse possible fate for any magical child, and she and Ted had made sure that Sirius knew it, too. Still, it took nearly a year before Dumbledore finally gave up on that scheme – and even then, it was only because they had anonymously informed _The Daily_ _Prophet_ what the old man was trying to do, and Dumbledore had been forced to behave in order to combat the damage done to his reputation.

{ _It makes me rather worried what Dumbledore might do, actually, now that Harry will be attending that man's school,_ } Andromeda mused to herself. { _But Ronald will be there with him, and I've told the boy to keep in contact with his friend, whichever House they end up being sorted into. My son will keep both me and Sirius informed if Dumbledore tries anything, I'm sure._ }

"Knut for your thoughts, love?" Ted asked her, as they approached the scarlet steam engine and the long line of passenger cars behind it.

"Just thinking about the past, and the future," Andromeda smiled at him. "Ah, here come the boys – and Sirius."

Indeed, Ronald and Harry were tearing along the platform, somehow dodging around the crowds of people while a bemused-looking Sirius followed them with Harry's trolley, with Remus bringing up the rear.

"Come on, old man, faster! Can't you go any quicker than that?" the Potter boy demanded challengingly.

Instantly, Sirius morphed into his animagus form – a huge black dog, reminiscent of a Grim – and he quickly outran both Ronald and Harry over to herself and Ted. "I certainly can, Prongslet. Quicker than you and your best mate, here," Sirius remarked, after transforming back to human form. "That reminds me – Ron, have you chosen your Marauder name yet?"

"Not exactly, Sirius," the pyromagus shrugged. "I mean, Harry suggested 'Heliopath' after reading an article about them in _The Quibbler_ – and while that's not bad, I reckon it might be better to wait until we've become animaguses, like you and Harry's dad and his godfather," Ronald said earnestly.

"Oh, Merlin help us if that ever happens," Ted groaned. "Boys, haven't I warned you both how dangerous that sort of thing is? So don't you dare try to do anything like that unsupervised!"

"He's right, you know," Remus Lupin said, as he finally joined the group. "When I think back to some of the insane risks Peter, James and Sirius took just to be there for me, whenever I transformed –"

"Insane? Oh, Moony, are you actually calling your employer – not to mention, the Head of House Black – a madman?" Sirius interrupted, grinning madly.

"The Black madness is present in every generation, cousin. As I'm sure Ronald here knows," Andromeda replied primly.

"Mum! I only tried to fly like a phoenix that one time!" Ronald protested, his face growing red.

"That was one time too many, young man, and I shudder to think what might have happened if Nymphadora hadn't been there to save your life!" she scolded the boy.

"Where is Tonks, anyway?" Sirius asked with a chuckle, glancing at the werewolf.

"She's either at the Auror academy, or else snogging her boyfriend – that Charlie Weasley bloke," Ronald replied promptly. "Maybe even both."

"Ronald!" Ted told him sternly.

"What? Dad, it's true!" the boy replied passionately. "And to think, the Weasel was planning to say cheerio and head off to Romania, that dragon preserve job... I mean – I had to warn the git that if he did that, I'd roast him alive, didn't I? He wanted to break Tonks' heart, he had to accept the consequences!"

"Spoken like a true Black," Sirius nodded approvingly, smirking.

"And a Tonks," Ted added proudly.

"Be that as it may – stop calling your sister 'Tonks', Ronald. Her name is Nymphadora," Andromeda said warningly.

"Sorry, mum, but I already promised Tonks that I wouldn't call her that anymore. My godfather taught her too many painful spells that she's willing to use on me," Ron replied frankly, which caused both Ted and Remus to start chuckling.

Andromeda wasn't feeling amused, though, glaring at her cousin. "Sirius..."

"Oh, look at the time! Harry, Ron, you two need to get aboard the train – and both Moony and I need to return home... Today's a busy day, isn't it?" Sirius grabbed Harry and started to hustle him away.

"You mean, apart from meeting with Rufus Scrimgeour at the Ministry, and you trying to chat up Amelia Bones yet again? Not particularly," Remus shrugged, as he grabbed Harry's trolley and Ted grabbed Ronald's, and the group made their way towards roughly the middle of the train.

"Alright, now, you two remember the rules once you're at Hogwarts?" Sirius smiled at his godson, and the son of his heart.

"Be good, and if you can't be good, don't be caught," both Harry and Ronald said in unison.

"Sirius!" Andromeda hissed at him.

"What? Both Prongslet and Heliopath will have to be careful, well... until they find the other two members of their generation's Marauders, of course. Their own versions of Moony and Wormtail – Merlin rest his soul," Sirius added parenthetically, a nostalgic look of sorrow appearing briefly on his face.

"Well. You two make sure you write a lot, understand?" Andromeda said to Harry and Ron. "Have fun, make lots of friends, and make sure you study hard! And stay out of trouble!"

"The kind of trouble that lands you in detention, anyway," Ted smiled with a slight shrug, before he winced at his wife's disapproving stare.

"You know what, Ted's right. So don't burn Filch's office into ashes until at least your third year, it'll be a lot more fun after pranking him for a long while first," Sirius said with a straight face.

"SIRIUS!" Andromeda nearly lost her composure completely.

Ronald abruptly hugged her and Ted goodbye, and then Sirius and Remus as well. "Bye, mum, bye dad! Bye Sirius, bye Uncle Remus!"

Harry did likewise before saying his own farewells, and then the boys grabbed their trunks and hopped aboard the train. Soon enough it was eleven o'clock and the Hogwarts Express slowly pulled out of the station, leaving the adults behind.

"It's going to be a long year, and the house will feel so empty now that both Ronald and Nymphadora will be absent," Andromeda said fretfully.

"We'll make do, love," Ted hugged her, before Sirius and Remus said their farewells and headed for the local floo terminals. He then added, "Kids grow up, you know that – it's just part of life, that's all. We'll adapt, just like we did when Ronnie was learning to control his powers – remember?"

"How could I forget?" Andromeda shook her head, recalling all the flame-freezing charms they'd had to install all over the house. "Oh, look who's coming..."

"Ted! Andromeda! It's lovely to see you both," Arthur Weasley greeted them, as he and his wife and daughter came over to the Tonks parents.

"Yes, it's been too long – you two should come over to the Burrow for lunch or dinner sometime," Molly offered graciously. "Oh, Ginny, you remember Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, don't you?"

"A little," the ginger-haired girl said shyly, looking at Ted. "Aren't you the mediwizard who delivered me?"

"And it was a pleasure to do so, dear girl," Ted smiled at Ginny. "Believe me; your arrival was a true blessing, in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked with childlike confusion.

"Errr..." Ted trailed off, looking at Arthur and Molly.

Molly's eyes suddenly grew wet. "This would have been his first year at Hogwarts, you know," she mused sadly. "I should have sent off four sons this year, instead of three..."

There was an awkward silence before Ginny asked, "Are you talking about him again, mum? My, my dead brother Ronnie? The one you cried about this morning?"

"Yes, dear, but it's all right – six children are enough for any mother, you know," Molly said to the little girl, obviously lying through her teeth – but fortunately, Ginny was too young and innocent to pick up on it. "Well, your father needs to return to the Ministry, and we need to return home to the Burrow. Ted, Andromeda, please don't be strangers – send me an owl soon for us to meet!"

There was another flurry of farewells, and soon enough, Platform 9 and 3/4 was emptied of Britain's wizards and witches until the next Christmas holidays.

* * *

 **The Hogwarts Express, roughly five miles from Kings Cross Station**

 **A short while earlier**

"Finally! We're on our way to Hogwarts," Harry said happily, as he and Ron finally settled their luggage in place and sat down in their seats. "Can't wait to finally see the place!"

"Me too. Well, just as long as we steer clear of that Dumbledore bloke, anyway," Ron nodded, stretching his legs all the way over to the seat on the other side of the compartment. "Heard enough stories about that nutter from both the parents and Tonks, to make me sure neither of us should go anywhere near him. Especially you, mate!"

"I know. Funny thing is, Sirius used to practically worship him, just like Uncle Remus. Just like my parents did, or so I'm told," Harry frowned. "Makes me glad your mum and dad were able to convince Sirius not to send me to those muggles – I actually met them recently, did I mention that? Didn't like them at all. My mum's sister, my Aunt Petunia – her face almost looked like that of a horse! Her husband, my Uncle Vernon, he reminded me of a walrus with a moustache. And my cousin Dudley? A pig in a wig, if there ever was one!"

"You're better off without them, it sounds like," Ron nodded his head. "Not that I'm against muggles – I love my dad's parents, Gran and Grand-dad are great! But if you don't want those people to be part of your life, then you shouldn't be forced to."

"Yeah, well, given how the Dursleys called us 'freaks' and whatnot? I'm really glad I was able to live with Sirius, well – whenever I didn't stay with you and your family," Harry replied, before he grimaced. "Is Tonks still mad at me, then?"

"What, for you telling mum how she was caught in a broom closet with her boyfriend last year? I dunno. Probably," Ron shrugged. "Anyway. You still planning to try out for your House's Quidditch team next year?"

"Just 'cause _**you**_ think Quidditch is boring," Harry retorted, giving his friend a light shove.

"Oi! I told you I'm planning to become a Healer like my dad, and that means I'll not have time to waste on things like that. Besides, I'm pretty sure I'll be busy enough just trying to keep up with my normal running and athletics exercises! And you brought it, didn't you?" Ron asked knowingly.

"Brought what?" Harry asked, trying to act as innocent as a three-year-old. It didn't work, though, and so he grinned and brought out his Nimbus 2000 and unshrunk it, staring at the broom lovingly. "I'm telling you, Ron, it's _**so**_ unfair how we aren't allowed our own brooms as first years!"

"Tch, the way you carry on like that? You're mad about that broomstick – in the 'until death do us part' sort of way," Ron snorted. "Maybe you ought to marry it, or something –"

"Shut up!" Harry gave him another playful shove, before he shrunk the broom and placed it back in his pocket. "And as if you didn't bring your own stuff that's forbidden by the school rules!"

"Well..." Ron said hesitantly, glancing up at his stowed trunk and giving Harry a quick and somewhat nervous grin.

"What? What?"

"You remember how roughly six months ago, Sirius's grandfather died and we visited the house on Grimmauld Place to retrieve his personal stuff?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, while we were there, I met the Black house elf named Kreacher," Ron said pensively. "And when he saw me set the living room curtains on fire after they tried to strangle me, he practically begged me to do the same thing with this golden locket he had. Thing is, I had to create a fire hotter than anything I've ever done before – mum said it was as hot as fiendfyre, actually – and after that blasted locket screamed and finally exploded from the heat, Kreacher gave me a book called ' _Secrets of the Darkest Incantations_ ' to show his gratitude..."

"Well, with a title like that? Sounds like you'll be able to use it to create rainbows and puppies, no problems," Harry wisecracked.

"Don't be daft, Harry; I brought it along just in case we run into the monster from Slytherin's chamber, or something equally as bad – there's a banishing incantation in there that Kreacher said is guaranteed to get rid of anything," Ron shrugged. "Better to have it and not need it than the other way around, I just thought."

"The Chamber of Secrets? Oh, come on," Harry said scornfully. "You actually believe that ridiculous story your mum told us about? That Chamber's just a myth! Even Sirius says so!"

"Well, either way, it's not like I'm planning to ever go look for the bloody thing – like I told you, I plan to study as hard as I can to become a Healer! Problem is, though, I'm not all that smart – I'll have to find someone to help me out, a swotty study partner or some such," Ron said musingly.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and a girl with lots of bushy brown hair stuck her head inside. "Do you two mind if I come in? Just about every other compartment is full, I'm afraid."

"Sure, come inside," Harry said generously, as he and Ron got up off of their seats. "And please, let us help you with your luggage."

"Oh, thank you. You're awfully kind," the girl said gratefully, as Ron waved Harry aside and grabbed the girl's trunk by himself. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Ronald Tonks," Ron introduced himself, before groaning at the sheer weight of the trunk. "Merlin, what have you got in here? Rocks?"

"No – books, of course," Hermione replied stiffly. "Nobody in my family's got magic at all, and it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was so pleased, of course, because Hogwarts is the very best school of witchcraft there is, or so I've heard – so I bought all the books I could, and I've learned all our course books by heart, naturally, I just hope it will be enough – oh, I'm sorry, who are you?" she babbled very fast, looking at Harry.

"Harry Potter," the young wizard introduced himself. "And d'you normally talk that fast? Probably better if you slowed down a bit – hang on, you've already learned all our course books by heart?! Ron, I think we've just found the best possible study partner for you," Harry added as an aside to his friend.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Hermione asked, ignoring that last bit. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and that's how I learned you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"I wouldn't believe what's written in those books, if I were you," Ron warned her, as he finished hoisting the trunk up and out of the way. "The authors more or less made it all up, given that Harry has never given any interviews – and both he and my godfather, Sirius Black, they lived in hiding for the first five years after James and Lily Potter were killed."

"What? Why?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Lots of Death Eaters who'd claimed they were 'under the Imperius' wanted to kill me," Harry shrugged. "And that Bartemius Crouch git wanted Sirius dead for killing his son – until my parental guardian killed him as well, a few years after Crouch's wife died. It was a really nasty duel, apparently; and it's not like they were gonna put _**that**_ in the history books, is it? Especially since I was involved, and that would conflict with all the tripe they'd already made up about me..."

"But, but – it was still written in print! I don't – how can the books be wrong? They've been around for years! I mean, if what you say is true, then surely _**someone**_ would have objected to the falsehoods, and had those books recalled by now?" Hermione protested, looking as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Harry and Ronald glanced at one another, before the younger boy cleared his throat. "You're lucky we're both halfbloods, Hermione, I'm pretty sure a pureblood would just look at you as if you're completely mental. But luckily, Ron's dad is a muggleborn and he exposed us to the muggle world, so we can clear up the confusion."

"Yeah, and the first rule is – forget all the rules that muggles live by," Ron said simply. "The British wizarding world may share the same land and speak the same language, but other than that, it's a completely foreign country. And in the wizarding world, whoever has the gold and the power, they make the rules. It's that simple."

"He's right. Few years back, some idiots went and published a book about me living the life of a pampered prince or something, and they tried to pass it off as the truth – just to make a bigger profit," Harry snorted in contempt. "So Sirius went to the Wizengamot about it, and instead of getting the publishers to stop selling that trash, he got a court order that forced them to hand over every single galleon, sickle and knut they earned for using my name and image without my permission. And everyone quickly got the message not to try to do that again, I can tell you!"

"But, but, but..." Hermione looked stunned and shocked.

"Different culture, different rules," Ron said frankly. "Tell you what – once we get to Hogwarts, why don't we set up a study group? Harry and I give you the inside knowledge and etiquette lessons regarding the wizarding world, and you help us with our class work. What do you say?"

"I'll have to think about it," Hermione said vaguely, her mind obviously elsewhere. Then she focused and added, "But I will give you an answer soon, I promise. Anyway, I was wondering about the sorting ceremony – do either of you know how it's done, by any chance? I couldn't find any details in any of the books, you see. And I'm hoping for either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw – oh, which House do you two think you'll end up in?"

"No clue about the sorting, it's tradition for it to be a 'surprise.' And myself, I'm guessing either Slytherin or Hufflepuff, like one of my parents. But whichever one it is, I'm hoping Harry will be in it as well," Ron gestured to his friend.

"Same here. And me? I dunno. Sirius reckons I'm a sure thing for Gryffindor, Ron as well – but..." Harry trailed off.

"But what?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Sometimes I can't help wondering whether Sirius sees my father in me, and himself in Ron, just a bit too much," Harry confided.

"Actually, that's far more common than you might think," Hermione began to lecture her companions, sounding far too knowledgeable for any normal eleven-year-old. "I've read about it, and that's how I know that psychological projection is a defense mechanism many people subconsciously employ, in order to cope with difficult feelings or emotions. Especially those brought about by trauma or loss!"

"I have to admit, you do remind me a lot of Remus Lupin – he's the honorary uncle to both Harry and me," Ron shook his head in amazement, before he smiled at the young witch. "And that's quite a compliment, you know; he's one of the smartest wizards I've ever met!"

"Well, I think we've definitely found our third Marauder," Harry said to Ron, raising his eyebrows. "What do you reckon?"

"Marauder? What?" Hermione looked at both of them in confusion.

"My godfather, Harry's dad, Harry's godfather and their friend, Uncle Remus; that's what they called themselves, when they were in school," Ron shrugged. "Hrmm. Yeah, all right – but if Harry's Prongslet and I'm Heliopath – for now, anyway – what Marauder name would you like? I mean, what best describes the inner Hermione Granger?"

"Oh! Well, the children at the muggle primary school I attended, they all called me names like 'bookworm' and 'know-it-all'," Hermione confessed, looking down.

"Well, that won't do," Harry shook his head. "No, not at all! Um, how about..." he trailed off.

"How about Mane?" Ron suggested. "Your hair, you know, it's very distinctive. Reminds me of my sister, when she went through that 'bushy hair' phase – even if Tonks' hair was that awful shade of pink!"

"Well, I don't know," Hermione said uncertainly, chewing her lip for a moment. "I mean, I'm not sure I even want to be part of your group yet!"

"Don't be silly. You can't fight fate," Harry tsk'ed. "It was obviously destined for you to join us. So I say welcome, Lady Mane, into the next generation of the Marauders!"

"Hear, hear," Ron added, smiling. "All hail the first female Marauder of her time!" He then ignited a fireball in his right hand, and it floated upwards towards the ceiling of the compartment, before it flamed out.

"How did you-? That was wandless magic, wasn't it? That's, that's N.E.W.T. level work! Tell me, please, how did you-?" Hermione started to babble again excitedly.

"I'm a pyromagus," Ron admitted simply, as Harry rolled his eyes.

"A _**what**_?" Hermione's eyes almost bugged out with disbelief.

"Oh, you'll soon learn all our secrets, if you join up with Ron and me. What do you say, Lady Mane? Will you accept us into your heart?" Harry struck an exaggerated pose, Sirius's influence making itself known to Ron instantly – and this time, he was the one who rolled his eyes.

"Oh, stop it," Hermione giggled slightly. "All right, fine. I suppose I could do a lot worse than you two in terms of friends, couldn't I?"

"You couldn't find two more loyal friends in all of wizarding Britain, milady!" Harry struck another exaggerated pose.

"Well, yeah. But we still need a fourth Marauder, you know," Ron said musingly, ignoring Harry's theatrics. "What do you think the odds are he or she will walk in through that door, anytime soon?"

And right on cue, Neville Longbottom (someone who, in this timeline, had been raised by his parents instead of his grandmother) knocked and stuck his head inside the compartment. "Hullo. Sorry to bother you all, but has anyone seen a toad by the name of Trevor, by any chance?"

"You said that just now on purpose," Harry accused his best friend, and the events of the next seven years were finally set into motion.

And if the antics of the new generation of Marauders were to cause Albus Dumbledore to have a hatal fart attack, as Sirius would put it – then surely that was a cheap price to pay for the Greater Good working its will, throughout the British wizarding world?

The End...

For now!


End file.
